Shadow of the East
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: The Blue Wizards travelled into the East and never returned into the West. What became of them in the land of the Easterlings? What was their mission, and did they succeed? Rated T.
1. Beyond the East

**(AN: So far, I don't think anyone, not even Tolkien, dared venture beyond the farthest reaches of the map into the East. So here is my attempt. Anything recognizeable is Tolkien's and not mine. Hope you enjoy [and recognize a very small cameo from one of my own OCs]).**

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><p><strong>Beyond the East<strong>

The two Elves were out riding through the forests surrounding Imladris. They could not be any more different: the youngest of the two wore a hood and cloak, though her dark eyes shone like the depths of Yavanna's pool. The eldest had fair hair like the forests of Laurel-Lindorenan, yet his eyes were deep as the Mirrormere in Silverdale. For he was Glorfindel of Gondolin, recently come back from out of the West. The young Elf was Nenwe, another survivor of Gondolin, though she had seen the years between its fall and his recent return.

"Are you sure this is the correct place?" Nenwe asked.

"I'm sure of it," he returned. "They told me they would come first here, to Imladris, as the others have."

Nenwe nodded, her keen eyes turned towards the west. Through some power of their own, or perhaps by reason of the fog that clung to the woods, the visitors were not to be seen from where the two Elves stood.

"What do you think of them?" Glorfindel asked.

"Curunir is very quiet," she answered. "Very close. I sense that he values the knowledge that he possesses. The other one is very odd: too inquisitive, always making friends with the little creatures. In a way, he reminds me of what the Eldar once were."

"And what of Mithrandir?"

"I've only seen him once," she answered. "He was speaking with Elrond and the others. Methought I saw a king sat upon his throne as he sat there, speaking with our great lords. Rich in wisdom, swift in anger, but quick to laugh."

Glorfindel laughed.

"What?"

"That's exactly what I thought!" the Elf-lord exclaimed.

They smiled and enjoyed somewhat of the silence.

"See anything yet?"

"No," Glorfindel shook his head. He then turned back to her. "How is Her Ladyship?"

"I have not seen her since she was old enough to travel," Nenwe replied. "She lives in Lothlorien, with her mother and her grandmother. Were it not for my duty, I would be there as well."

"Does the Lady Arwen miss her favorite aunt?" Glorfindel replied with a slight chuckle.

Nenwe laughed, shaking her head. "I have not seen Lothlorien since the War." She sighed. "Little over a thousand years ago."

Silence filled the glen once more.

"You miss him, don't you?"

"He died in peace," Nenwe said, her eyes downcast. "At a good, healthy age for any Dunedain."

"My apologies."

"It is nothing. Though I feel that it is not my duty to bring life into this world, not when I have slain so many."

Silence once again. Suddenly, Glorfindel exclaimed with a smile on his face.

"What? What is it?"

"Over there, at the eastern bank of the Bruinen!"

Nenwe looked as directed. She exclaimed.

"Blue?"

"Yes, _mellon nin_." he returned. "They are blue."

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><p>They sat at council with Elrond and Curunir. Though the Elf-lord was old in his own right, he did not look as wizened and ancient as Curunir, his hair snow white save for a few strands around the ears and lips. These two new-comers had blue-gray beards to compliment their blue robes. The tallest of the two was bald on the top of his head. The other one had broad shoulders and a full head of blue-gray hair.<p>

"As I have explained to Curunir," Elrond said to the new blue-clad elders. "There is little I can give to you, if you come to Imladris seeking Ring-lore. The Naugrim do not share knowledge of the Seven, and if the Three ever were made, they must surely be kept secret now. What is secret must therefore best be kept such."

"But the power that has arisen in the East," Curunir answered. "It is believed to be a Ringwraith. Merely the continued existence of such an abberation suggests that the Lord of the Rings may still be at large. We must be certain that such a being may still be at large."

Elrond sighed.

"So it has come at last," he said. "The day we have sacrificed and hoped against may yet be upon us. The Dark Lord may have yet returned."

"That is not known yet," the tallest of the two blue-clad elders said. "And while our esteemed Curu...nir has declared his intent to learn all that he can of Ring-lore, to better battle the Lord of the Rings, it is the purpose of I and my companion to aid your cause in another way."

"How?" Elrond asked.

"You are not alone in this war against the Enemy," the broad-shouldered one said. "Many of the creatures of the world have no love for the One Enemy, and they will aid you when necessary. Though we cannot openly oppose the Great Shadow, there are other ways we can assist you."

"Mithrandir," the tallest said. "Whom I believe you've already met, confided to us that he means to go among your allies of old, mending up the old treaties. Our duty is a much darker one, that requires haste and secrecy."

"Whither are you bound?" Elrond asked. "Can you confide that much?"

"East."

At this, Elrond became suddenly silent and his countenance was grave.

"None have dared venture beyond the Brown Lands of Rhovanion, into the fabled lands of Rhun."

"We shall dare."

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><p><strong>(AN: What do you think?)<strong>

**(I'll try to get a new chapter out as soon as possible, so don't worry)**


	2. Arrival

**(AN: Wow! Just the first chapter and already there's feedback!)**

**(I've heard many stories about what may have happened to the Blue Wizards. Obviously, since I'm of the mind that every perspective, however skewed or unpopular, has some basis in truth, it won't be my duty to 'down' any particular hypothesis. In fact, all things considered, mine is the product of combining several of those premises into one cohesive story. So yeah, you'll definitely enjoy this [I hope].)**

**(And we get to see Easterling culture like never before! So that's always fun!)**

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><p><strong>Arrival<strong>

_1050 T.A._

The lands east of the Anduin River, south of Greenwood, now called Mirkwood, and north of the Dagorlad had once been part of Greenwood. A broad and beautiful country it was, full of plenty and beauty. The Ent-wives lived here, but where they departed to once the War of Sauron and the Elves began, none of the Eldar knew.

"We need new names." the tallest of the two elders, Alatar, said to his fellow.

"Hmm?" Pallando asked.

"For ourselves, in the places where we must go," Alatar replied. "They must not know that the Valar have sent us, not unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I see."

They walked on in silence through the Brown Lands, their old, tree-root gnarled hands clutching the wood of their staves.

"What was that name that delightful young Elf-maid called me?" the broad-shouldered Pallando asked. "Remember, after we left Imladris?"

"I believe it was 'Romenasto'. It means 'Helper of the East.'"

"I know not how we would be helping them," Pallando mused. "At least, by keeping them alive and out of the slavery of a dead god. Still, I think I shall call myself that name. And what about you?"

"I have thought of 'Morinehtar'."

"Oh! That is a dark name."

"Ever has the Enemy claimed lordship over the lands of the East. If we are to indeed combat him, albeit not openly, I must choose a name that will depict my purpose, the same with you."

Pallando, the newly named 'Romenasto', grunted.

"Whatever happens, though," 'Morinehtar' stated. "We must not mention the name of Gondor."

"Why not?"

"Before we left, Lord Elrond told me somewhat of the political climate of the West. Arnor is divided and though Gondor is greater now than in the days of Anarion, they have been at constant war with the Easterlings. And it is into their land that we must go."

They paused for a brief period. Behind them in the west stretched the far Brown Lands. To the north was the shadow of Mirkwood: it was not always dark and terrifying. To the south lay the mountains of Mordor, a pale gray without the shadow of their once-master. Before them opened the lands of the East.

They took one more step and passed beyond the reckoning of the West.

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><p>Ando'khin stood in the fields, wiping the sweat off his brow. Out here in the plains, there was little to guard him from the heat of the sun. All the mountains were on the western shore of the Andu'gaer, the West Sea. All the trees were on the eastern shore, sheltering the port-city of Ghari'khor. This far in the south-west, the heat would become rather unbearable, especially with no shade whatsoever.<p>

But the farming needed to be done. Ghari'khor and the outlying villages and towns-folk could not survive on imported fish. It was the main source of income for the city, but fish were not as reliable as the crops. Though they did not bring in much, especially in the cities farther east, the grain that was harvested here meant a lot to the farmers, especially to Ando'khin.

As he stood there, wiping the sweat from off his brow, he saw a very strange sight. Two very tall old men, clad in blue with staves in their hands, were walking along the lane outside his field. They were rather outlandish, to be certain. Nobody in the village of Ghari'ban wore blue, or could boast of having passed the count of fifty years. And they were tall, much taller than the average villager. Their skin, also, was fair: resembling almost the rumors. Even as a child, this far away from the Capital City of Rhun, Ando'khin's parents told him the tales of the evil white giants of the West. He heard rumors of the giants on the move, winning big battles against the Empire of Rhun. He feared that he might see war soon in the land of his fathers.

A thought crossed his mind to call the town-guards.

"Hail, good fellow!" the taller of the old men greeted, speaking in Westron. _So they _are_ from the West_, Ando'khin thought.

"Good morning," Ando'khin returned. And he meant it. Though the sun was high in the sky and hot upon the brow, the breeze from the distant sea brought with it a bit of cool that made even the hottest heat bearable.

"What precisely do you mean by that?" the broader one asked. "Do you wish us a good morning, or is this a morning to be good upon? Or do you feel good this morning, or is it good whether we want it to be or no?"

"I don't know what you mean, sirs," Ando'khin replied. "I'm just a farmer, and not very good at riddles." He went back to his hoe, then looked up and saw that the two strangers were still standing there.

"May I ask what you are doing here?"

"We're traveling east," the tall one said.

"Travelers?" Ando'khin asked, with a snort. "There are no travelers here, only the white giants of the West. I believe you might be one of them. You know, I should call the town-guards."

"Please, good sir," the broad one said. "We mean you no harm. We come in peace, we're only passing through."

"Is that so?" Ando'khin asked. "Well, peaceable or no, you're outlandish folk. We don't get many outlandish folk here in Ghari'ban. You'll be the talk of the town within a day if you pass through, wearing those clothes."

"These are the clothes of our office," the tall one stated.

"Officers, you are? And whom do you serve?"

"We're travelers, not errand-boys." the broad one returned.

"How far have you come today?"

"From the West."

At this, Ando'khin looked rather suspiciously at them.

"I wouldn't be saying that out loud, if I were you." he said. Taking a look here and there, he then motioned towards the house that sat on the edge of the field. "Come to my house for a while."

"But we are strangers to you, and you to us!" the tall one said.

"Still," Ando'khin said. "I can't have your blood on my hands for your crass ignorance!"

The old men exchanged glances with each other, shrugged, then followed after Ando'khin to his house.

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><p><strong>(AN: So far so good, eh?)<strong>

**(This is just the tip of the Rhunic iceberg. This village featured here, Ghari'ban, is a little village lying within the protectorate of Ghari'khor, a larger fishing town on the edge of the Sea of Rhun. To the speakers of Elvish [Sindarin and Quenya] it is the Sea of Rhun, but to the Easterlings, it would be, in Sindarin, at least, Andu'gaer - the West Sea, for it lies on the western border of their land.)**

**(As far as names go, you can see that I'm setting up something of a pattern. Following other Eastern traditions, the surname, 'Ando' [strong], comes first, with the given name '-khin' [friend] coming second. The same concept works with the cities, to a degree. The name of the region [Ghari, which means 'west' in Rhunic - a language I'm creating, since Tolkien never made it], with the name of the kind of town [-bor], city [-khor] or village [-ban] coming after it.)**

******(This all will be important, as with Tolkien's names and words in his story. Though I doubt I could go into the cathartic amount of depth that he did with his languages. I'll try to flesh it out a little.)**

**(Next chapter will have some very important information about Rhun and Rhunic culture, so don't go anywhere!)**


	3. Strong Friend

**(AN: Here is the next chapter. I think this is a little important, since we've never been this far east and we must know a little bit of what we are getting ourselves into.)**

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><p><strong>Strong Friend<strong>

_T.A. 1050  
><em>

Ando'khin led the two old gentlemen into his small hut. He gave them a loaf of good bread which they could share. He then brought out wooden cups and poured each of them a measure of milk. This they excepted gladly, for the journey across the wilderness had been tiring and they were rationing the water in their own skins.

"So," Ando'khin began after they had more or less finished. "You wish to go into the East?"

They nodded.

"We have no travelers from out of the West," Ando'khin said. "Mostly it's the white giants declaring war."

"They don't want war, only peace." broad-shouldered Romenasto-Pallando said.

"That is not what the priests tell us."

"Priests?" Morinehtar-Alatar asked.

"The black giants." Ando'khin added. "They are the beloved of Gorkhan, they spread his message to us, his humble servants."

"Who is Gorkhan?" Morinehtar-Alatar asked again.

"Ask such questions in public," Ando'khin stated. "They'll lynch you for being another pagan white giant. Gorkhan is all-powerful. He is the rising of the Sun, the gathering of night..." Suddenly, Ando'khin sighed. "The levier of heavy tithes."

"What tithes does Gorkhan ask of his people?" Romenasto-Pallando inquired.

"Each year," Ando'khin said. "The priests will come into our villages, and declare that Gorkhan has need of offerings. They will take our food, our livestock, our sons and our daughter, and carry them off to the Capital. Whatever happens to them afterward, we know not."

"That doesn't sound too heavy."

"They are never fair or just in their 'offerings'," Ando'khin stated. "We barely make enough to sustain ourselves, yet the priests demand ninety percent for Gorkhan. Even the miners in the mountains have much to fear: the priests tithe their ore. Perhaps that is why so many of our people resort to brigandry."

"Why?"

"Because they feel that if you're outside the laws of a village, Gorkhan's priests can't touch you. But they are only fooling themselves."

"Where do these priests come from?" Romenasto-Pallando asked.

"Some have hermitages in the Northern Wastes, or so I've been told," Ando'khin stated. "Others squat right in the City of Rhun, our beloved capital. But they are not our friends: they owe allegiance only to Gorkhan."

"What does your king say to this?" Morinehtar-Alatar inquired.

"King Lorgan of Ghari'khor? The priests hold sway even over him. There are rumors that the Divine Emperor has also been enslaved."

"Divine Emperor?"

"You truly are strangers," Ando'khin said. "Everyone in the East knows of our Glorious and Divine Emperor. He is the one who rules from the Capital City of Rhun. But he is not as powerful as Gorkhan, praised be his name."

"Why?"

"He permits the priests to do their deeds. At first we believed he didn't know and that they acted without permission, but my brother had an audience with the Divine Emperor and learned the truth."

Ando'khin sat down, a pale look of horror upon his face.

"He was never the same," he said. "He could never endure the night or a winter's chill without crying out as if in pain, and muttering something about moving shadows and darkness. I fear he may have lost his mind before the end."

"Is he dead?"

"He was burned three months ago," Ando'khin answered. "Still, me and my brother are not the only ones who bear the brunt of the priests' 'tithes' and 'holy taxes'. Revolution is on the wind, and if you travel into the East, you would best be wary in whose hands you place your trust."

"Why?"

"That word falls easily off your tongues," Ando'khin laughed. "But this is no laughing matter. Already there are whispers of rebelling against the Emperor. Those who are close to King Lorgan say that we should not be dictated by the Emperor, since our caravans give such precious supplies to Rhun. I think they want to raise the taxes and tolls on exported goods, and make Ghari'khor wealthier than Rhun.

"But there are other cities as well, so I've heard," Ando'khin continued. "The city upon the Hildo'ren River, that trades with the Variags of Khand, they bring many goods to Rhun. I feel they may have similar thoughts as those in Ghari'khor. But the Empire is not ignorant of their behavior, which is why, I feel, they are building Terr'khor in the North. The ax-wielding barbarians have too much contact with Dwarves and Lake-men. Friends of the white giants, if ever I heard of them."

"Have you ever seen a Dwarf?" Morinehtar-Alatar asked.

"Never," Ando'khin said. "But there are rumors that they live in the Red Mountains. Methinks that's all they are, rumors: dragons live in the desert sands close to the mountains, or so the stories go. Even Dwarves could not destroy all those dragons."

"Anyway," Romenasto-Pallando interjected. "What was it you said about ax-wielding barbarians in the north?"

"Oh, yes. Well, they are good men, dark-haired and proper-sized, but they are too wild. They don't build towns or villages or farms, they just hunt and kill people with their axes. They're so foolish, I feel that only an Imperial Army would be able to make them do anything. But they are nothing compared to the Wain-riders."

"Who?"

"The rebels between here and Rhun," Ando'khin said. "We call them Wain-riders because they ride into battle on wagons pulled by horses. They are lightning-fast upon the plains, no one can catch them: not even the knights of the City of Rhun. They have no master and kill whoever trespasses in their territory. Because of them, the trade-routes farther east and south are very dangerous."

Moments later, the sound of someone talking came from another wing of the small house.

"Ando'khin, who do you have there in the kitchen?" a woman's voice asked.

"Travelers, Ando'me." he replied.

"And what is it you're talking about so loudly?" the woman asked, as she made her way into the kitchen. She gave a cry of shock when she saw the two strangers and waved her husband over to speak with her privately.

"Excuse me, sirs." He walked over aside and began speaking to her in a language that neither of the old men knew or could understand.

Moments later, he emerged, looking a little put off and embarrassed.

"Have we stayed our welcome overlong?" Morinehtar-Alatar asked.

"I'm afraid so," Ando'khin said. "I am truly sorry, good fathers. But my wife insists that you leave at once. We don't get strangers here, and it may mean trouble." He walked over to one side of the kitchen and brought out an animal skin.

"Here," he said. "There's good water in there, you won't find any for at least a hundred leagues, if you are planning on going straight eastward. I would wish you well, but this is the land of Gorkhan: if he wishes you well, you will be well. If not..." He halted, fearful to say what else.

"You have shown great charity, good sir," Romenasto-Pallando said. "A blessing of good health and prosperity on you and yours, Ando'khin of Ghari'ban."

"May you always have enough to survive the tithes of Gorkhan." Morinehtar-Alatar added.

The two placed their hats back on their heads, then turned towards the door and left the house of Ando'khin.

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><p><strong>(AN: A little explication of the Eastern political climate.)<strong>

**(This story will span several centuries, so I don't know if I can have too many important characters...perhaps _three_ at least, maybe Saruman will make another cameo, since he also went into the East. But the house of Ando'khin is important...definitely)**

**(Sorry it took so long)**


	4. Allies

**(AN: Here's the next chapter. Also, it will show a certain bit of something that many have been guessing as to the fate of the Blue Wizards. In this way, I have borrowed an idea from outside of Tolkien [I'll let you guess where I borrowed it from], but I think it works, especially since the only access with the West that these two will ever have again is [well, you'll see later on].)**

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><p><strong>Allies<strong>

_1100 T.A._

The city of Rhun. With a name that was also the name of their Empire, Rhun was the unifying power in the lands of the East. A city two miles from north to south and three and a half miles from east to west, it was also the largest and wealthiest city of the East. Its great boundaries straddled the trade-routes between the Northern Wastes, Khand, Hildo'ren and Hel'khor, the city that sat upon the southernmost bay of what remained of Helcar the Inland Sea, making it an ideal trade spot. Even fifty years after the arrival of the Istari from out of the West, legends spread throughout the lands of the East of the golden walls of Rhun.

To this city Romenasto and Morinehtar came slowly over the ages and always in secret. They seemed to stand out so fiercely that they had no choice but to remain hidden or else face strong reprisals. For, as they walked in secret, hunched over like old mortal men, with filthy rags over their blue robes, they saw things that none in the West had ever known, though many had guessed rightly. The people of the city of Rhun were wholly dedicated to Gorkhan, the god of the East. They prayed to him and sacrificed to him daily: not goats or sheep, those were tithed by the Black Giants for the service of Gorkhan. Day by day the screams and cries of men, women and children dying rose from the gold-plated temples dedicated to Gorkhan, the acrid stench of burning flesh befouled the smoke that rose up from the temple pyres into the morning, evening and midnight air, and all the shrines were doused liberally in the blood of the sacrifices.

As if this were not enough, the worship of Gorkhan was so zeroed into the peoples' ideals that everything they did was to the greater glory of Gorkhan. Men would scar themselves with tattoos evoking Gorkhan's power, or drench themselves in the blood of the sacrifices. Women who were barren or could no longer bear children were encouraged to commit suicide, either by burning as the daily sacrifice or to join the Imperial Army. As for the children, theirs was the hardest life of all. They were taught from an early age that no god existed other than Gorkhan the All-Seeing, the All-Mighty. They were taught that death was a glorious release, especially if it meant killing as many of the White Giants as they could. Even young girls, from as early as they could speak, were taught that, if their homes were invaded by the White Giants, to lock all the doors and set the house aflame with them still inside. Killing and death in the name of Gorkhan were woven into children songs and old wives' tales, so that there was not a place of their lives where death in service to Gorkhan was not emphasized. Even obedient children, boys and girls alike who followed and believed all these rules, were carried off by the Black Giants to the temples for sacrifice.

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><p>Over the years, however, Romenasto and Morinehtar had established friends in precious few houses, mostly among the poor and old in the city, those with nothing left to lose; friends who offered them hospitality and shelter as they made their pilgrimages across the lands of the East. They kept silent, waiting for the right moment to reveal their true intentions, until one time at night. Morinehtar was sleeping and Romenasto had gone through the streets of the city, looking with his own eyes upon the people of Rhun. Furthermore, it had become more or less of a custom for the temples to become filled at night, with loud raucous noises of revelry in addition to the usual screams of the sacrifice.<p>

Tonight, Romenasto would see what this was about.

He approached the steps of one of the great temples dedicated to Gorkhan. It's walls were of a deep red color, like that of blood, and its roof was lined with gold. Statues of, as he supposed, Gorkhan lined the hallway that led into the depths of this temple. Romenasto noted that they were all clad in the vestments of a warrior, with hands resting upon a great hammer, or mace of some kind, whose head sat upon the floor. The eyes, also, were painted with blood and stood out sharply as he walked among them. It was a most unsettling sight. Even the Wizard, who could sense no beings or spirits within these halls, felt naked and exposed before the dead statues of the god of the East: as if they had some power of their own to watch and to see beyond all shrouds and deceptions, even into the heart and mind. Romenasto feared that his purpose would be divined by these statues - as foolish as it sounded, even in his mind - and death would come on swift wings.

But this did not happen, and he was permitted to walk down the statue-lined hallway without so much as anything stopping his way. Past the hall of statues, the corridor branched off in twain, terminating in a large pavilion where the services were carried out. Clinging carefully to the wall, Romenasto crept along the wall and found himself looking upon a gruesome sight.

It was an orgy of blood and violence, of perversion of the worst sort. Hundreds of Easterlings, short, dark-skinned men, women and children all covered in blood from the latest sacrifice, gathered in awe around a tall figure clad in black. Crouching behind the figure were five other ones, robed in black. In stark contrast to the tall figure, who stood proud and spoke with a commanding voice, the five others shuffled and squatted on short legs hidden beneath their robes.

"Listen, people of Rhun!" the voice of the tall figure shouted. "Gorkhan is freedom! Complete and total submission to the Great One is the only way to gain freedom. The White Giants of the West are slave-masters and tyrants, who seek only to keep you living in a world of fear and guilt. Fear of retribution from their invisible Valar, these seemingly powerful beings against who's power none can stand. None save Gorkhan! He is more powerful than a thousand Vala! They are but a dream, a fantasy, a lie engineered to keep you enslaved. Gorkhan is _real_ strength, _real_ power! He is real! Behold his servants!"

At this, the Black Giant, Romenasto could only assume a Moredain, a Black Numenorean, removed the veils from those behind him. To his shock, he saw what they were: short, squat, and filthy, leering with disdain at the people who were gushing and bowing before them.

"Life is pain, suffering and death," the Black Numenorean continued. "We must not run away from it, like the cowards of the West and their Elvish allies would have you do, but embrace it and revel in it! For only through pain to we become invincible! Open yourselves now to the blessing of Gorkhan by the hand of his servants!"

He spoke to those behind him in a tongue that Romenasto knew all too well as the Black Speech. What happened next was so foul that Romenasto could not look upon it. Howls and angry growls and groans came from the orcs as they descended upon the people. Suddenly, the cries of women echoed in his ears, the cries of those who, in pain and suffering, find pleasure and ecstasy. It was sickening.

With one hand over his mouth, and another on his staff, he quickly made his way out of the temple. It was too much for him to witness, even if only with his ears. It was like one of the many cults of the King's Men that rose up in Numenor in the days of old.

"You there!"

Those two words were the ones that he feared to hear, that he dreaded to hear. Perhaps the statues _had_ seen through him and now told the revelers that one was about who was strong enough to be their undoing.

"Old man," the voice was from an Easterling youth. He wore red cloth, like many of those in the city, though it was obviously just a tunic over his 'peasant' garb.

"What would you have of me?" Romenasto asked.

"I've heard rumors about you," the young man said. "You and the other one. You're two old men, dressed in blue, and you don't stay very often. But when you do, it's always well-remembered: you're always giving help to whoever needs it."

"Well, we do try..."

"My name is Moren'tai. I would like to help you."

"I do not think there is any way you can..."

"Please!" the lad insisted. "I know that you've not met friends in all of the places you have visited. Which is why I want to help. I want to help you with whatever you have, whatever you need. Honest and truth: I wish to learn."

Romenasto turned to Moren'tai, and beheld a face that yearned to know everything. It reminded him of the Eldar, for many had come at last to Aman in the many years between their birth and the present. In their eyes burned that same fire, the desire to know, the yearning to search. Here was one who could not accept the world as how he had been told it functioned: here was one who was ever keen to search for the answers and never take anything as how he had been first told. This made Romenasto happy, in a way that he had not been in almost fifty years. Here was one who's mind would be open, who could put aside the teachings of Gorkhan and the Black Numenoreans and see the world for what it was.

"My name is Romenasto," he replied. "Come with me, I will show you where I lodge."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: In keeping with Tolkien's idea that names matter, I've got something of an idea for what Alatar [Morinehtar] and Pallando [Romenasto] will do before the end.)<strong>

**(As far as what happened in the temple, I don't know. Maybe I pushed it a little too far there. Should I up the rating? But, seriously, pulling orcs out of the ground is _not_ in congruence to what Tolkien said about the orcs in the _Silmarillion_, that they had life and multiplied after the manner of the Children of Eru [Men, Elves, etc.]. But, like with Lovecraft, maybe knowing the truth about the orcs is more frightening/disturbing than the fanciful ignorance that Peter Jackson created. Perhaps the world should know that, since they are not ready for the _truth_.)**

**(Rather shorter than I expected, but I've got a plot-bunny here and I didn't want to drag this chapter out too _too_ long.)  
><strong>


	5. The Fear of Death

**(AN: Hope you've waited, because this chapter is going to be an important one.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Fear of Death<br>**

_1100 T.A._

Death was more prevalent in the East than in the West, so it seemed to Morinehtar and Romenasto. True, the Dunedain usually lived to about three hundred or more (or so they had in the days of Elendil), and the Elves were immortal to all save for the destruction of their bodies, but the Easterlings were horribly mortal. For many, thirty summers was the full tale of years of the life of a healthy man.

As such, the two Wizards had to remain quite secret. Those who were long-lived were believed to be Elf-friends, and Elves were always equated with the "evil" of the West. Even their 'friends', the elderly people they lived with in the poor districts of the city of Rhun, knew not that they, though old, never aged. They would leave once the people they lived with died, for if they remained and a new generation grew old while they remained, suspicion would be easily garnered. Therefore it was that neither of the Blue Wizards made sure friends.

At least until a certain night in the Lower District of Rhun.

A knock sounded at the door late that night. The old man and woman - about fifty, the two of them - opened the door and saw old Romenasto standing in the doorway with a young man trailing behind him.

"Go find my friend," Romenasto said. "Wake him, tell him I've brought company."

The old man went to do so, while the old woman tried to find something to feed the boy. It was late and they were making their way to bed by this time. Romenasto apologized for the lateness of the hour, but the old woman said nothing regarding it.

Minutes later, Morinehtar appeared from where he had been resting.

"My friend," Romenasto greeted. "I've brought this young man to you, Moren'tai. He's offered us his services."

Morinehtar said nothing at first. He was looking first at the young man, then at the old couple, then back at his friend. In the youth's eyes, he saw a silent distrust of the blue-clad stranger. But that was to be expected: most of the people of Rhun looked at them with such disdain.

"May I speak with you in private?" Morinehtar whispered to Romenasto. He turned to Moren'tai, excused himself, then followed Morinehtar back into the spare room. The door was quietly closed behind them.

"Pallando, what were you thinking?" Morinehtar asked.

"He's an earnest young man, Alatar," Romenasto returned. "I sensed within him a desire for knowledge and an ardent yearning for truth."

"As had the Eldar long ago," Morinehtar said. "Behold what ruin that brought upon Middle-Earth!"

"This could be different," Romenasto retorted.

"Even if that were so," Morinehtar stated. "They are far too mortal. They enter old age and die by the time the Dunedain are in their prime. We will be a spectacle when, after only fourscore years, we will not have died or even aged greater than we are now, and for them, two generations will have been buried."

"Are we to distance ourselves from these people," Romenasto queried. "By reason of our longevity? Our purpose still lies before us!"

This brought Morinehtar to silence.

"Can we indeed help them, Pallando, if we separate ourselves from them so?"

"But we are not permitted to dominate them, as Sauron did in ancient times."

"We will not..."

"They will make gods of us," Morinehtar interrupted. "If ever they discover how old we are and our great power."

"But if we start small," Romenasto said. "Wean one with an open mind, we can create a new era of change in the East."

"This seems," Morinehtar mused. "To be a very dangerous road we would be treading."

"If we do not include them in our plans, at least," Romenasto replied. "It would be nothing short of dominance, which would be against our mandate."

At this, Morinehtar sighed. "Do as you will." he said. Romenasto turned to walk away, then looked back at the blue-veiled old Wizard. "It is for the best, I'm certain." But Morinehtar said nothing. Romenasto opened the door and saw, waiting, the young Moren'tai, eager as ever.

"You may stay with us," Romenasto said. He felt the youth's mood rise with his smile. "However, you shall be called Amandil, as long as you are with us."

"As you wish!" Moren'tai-Amandil said. "I'll-I'll do whatever you ask. No task will be too great for me to do!"

Romenasto laughed. "For now, young lad, to bed with you." He turned to the old couple. "Find a place for young Amandil to sleep." They nodded and the old woman went off to prepare a place.

"No, don't!" Amandil said. "I'll sleep here, at the door of their room. I'm a servant, after all. I should sleep here, waiting the order of my masters."

"You're more than a servant, young one," Romenasto replied. "You are a friend. You shall have a place to sleep. Good night for now. Sleep well, for the morning has many duties ahead of us."

* * *

><p><em>1120 T.A.<em>

Neither of them could have foreseen what transpired that night in the city of Rhun. Suddenly they had a youthful ward with them, an assistant whose help was ceaseless in the places they went. He spoke the language of the East, so they no longer needed to search for one who could speak Westron whenever they traveled.

Twenty years passed in the world. In short time Amandil was almost thirty, his life pretty much over by now. Yet he continued to serve the Blue Wizards earnestly. The two old men had not aged at all; though they hunched and walked with staves like very old men (those very few Easterlings who saw fifty), they did not grow weaker as other men did. Amandil said nothing, yet both Morinehtar and Romenasto knew that not all was well with their friend. Though he carried out his tasks as earnestly as in his youth, a kind of silent resentment was glowering in his person, and both of the Wizards could sense it.

It so happened one afternoon that they came to a village to the far east of Rhun. Amandil called it Lomen'dho, the 'Red Village'. It stood within sight of the Red Mountains, those fabled peaks from whose tops the fathers of the Edain, the race of mortal men, saw the first sunrise. Both of them stood in awe as they saw the last rays of the sunlight from the west touching the tops of these hallowed mountains.

"What is it?" Amandil asked. "Why are we stopping?"

"Those mountains," Morinehtar said, indicating to the mountains. "Beautiful, are they not?"

"Maybe," Amandil shrugged. "They're mountains. They won't protect us from the night cold. We have to go into the village."

"Do you not know the tale of the Red Mountains?" Romenasto asked.

"I heard they are sacred, for some reason or another," he replied. "It's said Gorkhan built his palace behind those mountains. It's guarded by creatures, wild beasts: they walk like men but they bear the bodies of dragons."

The old men nodded. "It seems, then," Morinehtar said. "We'd be wise not to venture too deep into those mountains." Amandil grunted.

They turned their eyes then towards the small town of Lomen'dho. They walked through the streets, blue-hoods thrown over their faces and blue scarves down over their beards. Amandil wore black and red travel clothes, stained and frayed from twenty years of travel. He looked the most 'at home', so to speak, among the people of the village. The townsfolk did not look up at them as they walked by, they walked quickly back to their houses, speaking in hushed tones. Doors were closed and windows bolted until the streets were abandoned save for the three travelers.

"It looks like we will be sleeping in the streets tonight," Romenasto said.

"Gorkhan forbid!" Amandil said. "There are dangerous people about. The Wain-riders have been growing increasingly hostile as of late."

"Where do you suppose we rest?" Morinehtar asked.

Amandil pointed back to the hills. The two older men almost laughed in protest, but Amandil shook his head. "The Wain-riders can't get their battle-wains into the mountains, we'll be safer there."

So it was at last decided that they would spend the night in the mountains. They left the cold reception of the village, though it seemed rather odd, considering how Ando'khin had received them. Romenasto's thoughts traveled back to Ando'khin in his village on the Sea of Rhun. Almost one hundred years had passed since their shadows had passed over his house. Surely he was dead by now. A sad thing, for Romenasto remembered now Ando'khin's generosity.

"I wonder," he mused aloud.

"Hmm?" Amandil queried.

"Why the people refused us in Lomen'dho," he replied.

"We do not trust strangers," Amandil said. "Only those clad in black are trusted, for they are the Black Giants, the priests of Gorkhan and harbingers of his will. You come from lands far away, many might think you are from the West: that's more than enough reason to mistrust you, even if they don't know that you mean no harm."

"Why is that so?" Morinehtar asked. "Why is the West held in such disdain?"

"The West has always been the enemy of Gorkhan, so my father told me, as I'm sure his father told him," Amandil said. "It's said, many hundreds of years ago, that a great battle was fought between the King of Remu'khor and the King of the White Giants: it was a massacre. They killed thousands of my people, showing no mercy, sparing none, even if they dared surrender."

"I thought," Morinehtar stated. "The Men of the East feared no enemy and never retreated from a battle."

"So it has always been," Amandil proudly stated. "So it has been our greatest pride. One of our people is worth a hundred White Giants. There's an old story about the difference between us, the White Giants and the Over-Men: when the battle goes ill, the White Giants quit the field and when they are surrounded, they throw their weapons down in surrender. Not so with the Over-Man: he fights to the very last, showing no fear. He laughs as the ax comes down upon his neck, smiling until the very end."

Neither of them said anything. They knew that Amandil was very proud of his people and his heritage, misguided though that may be.

As nightfall was settling in, they climbed the bones of the mountain until they found a hollow between the rocks that provided some protection from the wind. They built a small fire and ate their meal - dried fruits, salted meats and a skin of water each. Morinehtar fell asleep quite easily, while Romenasto and Amandil lay against the rocks, eyelids half-open, viewing the fire.

"_Adar_," Amandil said to Romenasto. "May I ask you a question?"

"Eh?" Romenasto replied. "Oh, by all means. Go ahead."

"How long have I served you?" Amandil queried.

"Twenty years."

"In all of that time, have I ever been unfaithful in my charge or disloyal to you or to my lord Morinehtar?"

Romenasto stirred, opening his eyes and turning to the no-longer youthful man laying opposite of him. His face was worn with the care of many years, yet his eyes, brown and keen, still hungered for knowledge.

"Never, my friend," Romenasto fondly replied. "You've been the model of obedience, as befits a student to his teacher. I'm grateful beyond measure to have you as my friend."

"'Friend?'" Amandil queried.

"Yes, 'friend.'" Romenasto replied. "You speak the word as if it is strange to you."

"I think I understand what it means to be a friend, but I cannot apply it to my own life. Before I met you, I was raised in the way of the people of Rhun. I slept, walked, worshiped Gorkhan and did as I was told, but I never had any friends."

"Why not?" Romenasto asked.

"Because it is against Gorkhan's creed," Amandil stated. "To open yourself to another makes you weak." He looked up at Romenasto. "Am I weak?"

"No! Never! You made the hardest decision a young man could make: leaving his father and mother, home and comforts, for what he believes in most, the desire to know the truth. There are other strengths, besides prowess in battle. Friendship itself is a feat of strength, one that many find too difficult to hazard."

Amandil fell silent again. Romenasto returned to his rest, eyes starting to close.

"May I ask you something else?"

"Dear me," Romenasto laughed. "If I am to answer all your questions, I will never get any sleep!" He saw that Amandil did not find the humor in his statement. "My apologies. Please, continue."

"In all the years that we have been together," Amandil queried. "Have I ever asked anything of you or my lord Morinehtar for myself?"

"Never," Romenasto stated. "In fact, we have had to make provision for you, since you care not for yourself, as long as you can be of greatest service to us. Oh, we count it not a burden! To have one such as you is perhaps the greatest blessing the Valar could have bestowed."

Amandil was brought to silence once again. But Romenasto did not go back to sleep this time. "What is it that bothers you, my son?"

"What?" he asked. "Why do you think I'm bothered?"

"You've been growing rather distant over the past seven years or so," he replied. At this, Romenasto averted his eyes.

"My apologies, _adar_! I do not mean for my troubles to offend you. You shall hear no more of them!"

"No, please. It is no offense. You have been nothing but kind and helpful to us, it is only natural that I should seek to return the favor to you. An inquisitive mind is never satisfied, and yours is the greatest I have seen in Men."

Amandil blushed. "Well, if I may continue...in all the years we have been together, you have told me much, about the lands of the West and of the Eldar and the Valar." Romenasto nodded. True enough, he had told him much, even his right name.

"You have been very receptive of this information," Romenasto stated proudly. "Most of your people would have taken us out and hanged us on the spot for speaking of the Eldar or the White Giants."

"I live to know, and to serve, my lord!" he bowed.

"I understand," Romenasto nodded. "However, your restless behavior noted, I cannot help but wonder that this is not enough for you. What is it that you would desire?"

Amandil fell silent once again. Looking at his face, in the warm glow of the fire, Romenasto saw a man perplexed by his situation. He was wrestling with something deep in his mind. This made Romenasto slightly, and a bit guiltily so, pleased: perhaps he was wrestling with his old beliefs in his mind. What with the tutoring he had given him, maybe one day he would forsake Gorkhan and then...

"I am an old man," Amandil said at last. "I have no brothers or sisters, all my family is dead. I have no one else in this world save for you and master Morinehtar."

"You wish for leave to start a family?" Romenasto queried.

"No, that's not on my mind." he shook his head. "When I look at myself, I see the culmination of all that I am, all that my people are, and all that it will ever lead us to. But when I look at you and master Morinehtar, I see something else: I see a kind of strength, a secret power hidden beneath your blue robes, a cunning craft that gives you unnatural long-life and power, great power.

"I've seen some of it at work. Little bits here and there: lighting a fire without tinder, breathing light into the crystals in your staff-heads. But I know, deep down inside, that there's even greater power than these trifles. I want to know that power, so that I can live and serve you forever."

Romenasto did not sigh upon hearing Amandil's desire: he barely even breathed. Any other request would have been answered and fulfilled without hesitation: this, on the other hand, was something different entirely. He understood, of course, why this would be desirous to him. As far as Amandil could have seen, that kind of power led to the longevity that Morinehtar and Romenasto possessed - oh, that he never truly chose to understand what little they had revealed to him about the Secret Fire. For one who was so short-lived that, as of now, death was on his shoulders, the power to cheat death was something to be greatly desired.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I need to establish that Ando'khin, whom you met in chapters 2 and 3, did something that was a little out of the ordinary, as far as Easterlings go. Taking in strangers like that isn't exactly part of their culture, which is why I had the village of Lomen'dho turn them down.)<strong>

**(As you can see with Moren'tai/Amandil, the two taught him something of the Elvish languages and the lore of the West. After all, inquiring minds just got to know. He has an important part to play in this story - in this story, people with important parts will be named and featured, since, as this story takes place over at least two thousand years, it will cover quite a great passage of time, and I can't have too many people appear, since they will most likely die off shortly. So the important ones get named and featured.)**


	6. Karahn'klem

**(AN: Sorry for the wait, here's the next chapter)**

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><p><strong>Karahn'klem<strong>

_1129 T.A._

In the years that followed, Morinehtar and Romenasto noted that Amandil was increasingly silent and grim. What had happened after the events of that night in the Red Mountains was anyone's guess. Amandil did not grow outwardly angry or rebellious towards either of them, yet he seemed even more distant than before.

So it happened that it was nine years after the events of that night when things finally changed. Morinehtar and Romenasto were still quite old and yet as strong as before, but Amandil was now growing old, even among the reckoning of the people of Rhun. They walked now in the Northern Wastes, in the land that once stretched for miles upon miles in every direction: beautiful golden-brown steppes that faded into blankets of rime in the North. Now they were long ago broken in the great sundering that heralded the end of the First Age, the Elder Days.

Here, upon the shores of a sea that never existed, where the song of gulls cried beyond the ear of any of the Eldar, the Blue Wizards made their camp. Morinehtar was busy with the fire, while Romenasto, now once again permitted to have precious few moments alone with Amandil, spoke to him.

"Is everything well?" he asked.

"Forgive me, _adar_," Amandil bowed. "I have offended you in some way." He coughed.

"No, no, I am not offended," Romenasto replied. "What you ask, however, is no small matter. Yet, I fear, it is not your part."

"Why not?" Amandil asked. "Why must the Men of Rhun always live such short, brutal lives?"

"It is the 'Gift of Man,'" Romenasto said.

"The Doom of Man, rightly named," Amandil said. "The Valar could not possibly be good if they gave choice only to the White Giants, forsaking all others as being unworthy of their blessing."

"But the other men fought against the Valar!" Romenasto said. "The ones you call the White Giants earned the right to choose by their loyalty."

"If the Valar will hold that against my people," Amandil stated. "Then they don't deserve my worship!"

"Can you not see?" Romenasto asked. "Men live such short lives, and therefore they have such greater potential than the rest of the races. For the Eldar live on and never change, yet Men are young and will do all that they can in their lives, since they cannot see the end of all things."

"But can you not see it from _my_ perspective?" Amandil asked. "A long life means all the time to discover the secrets of the world, to perfect every art of warfare and lore-craft. What great things I could discover!"

Romenasto sighed. "You are a good man, Amandil. An open mind and a willing heart I have never seen in any of your people. You have the rare treasure to know our true names and so much lore of the West that has been hidden from the minds of the East. What more do you want?"

"You know what I want," Amandil returned. "I want a portion of your power."

Romenasto sighed. "I do not know if it is even possible for one who is not of the Istari to know our power."

"No more secrets, _adar_!"

A long space of silence followed, while Morinehtar continued to work with the fire. Only the crackling of the flames, the endless sway of the sea and the cry of the gulls, filled the late evening air. Romenasto and Amandil's eyes were locked on each other, yet neither of them spoke a word.

"I, I can understand," Amandil said. "If you cannot do so. I mean, obviously, it's Morinehtar who is the more powerful."

"I'm not as vain as that," Romenasto chuckled. "We are each given our own unique powers: Curunir has his voice, Rhadagast his love of the wilds, Mithrandir his council and so on."

"What power do you have?" Amandil queried.

Romenasto turned. "I have the power to heal the hurts in the hearts of your people, to strengthen the faltering hand, to steady wavering feet. My power is only used to help and to aid."

"That's what I want!" Amandil said. "To change the world of my people for the better."

"But good has often been corrupted," Romenasto said. "And used for ill-purposes. The Dunedain, the White Giants, as you call them, had powers of their own. Yet their power was turned towards evil purposes when they worshiped the dark powers. How can you expect to succeed where even the greatest minds of mortal men have failed?"

"Because I have you as my counselor," Amandil replied. "You will lead my footsteps on the path of truth, keeping my foot from falling into the folly of the White Giants."

Romenasto hesitated still, and it seemed that he would not relent. Amandil seemed to notice this as well, and he looked at his mentor in the eyes. To any who could see this sight, it seemed as though a young student sat at the feet of an aged teacher, yearning to know what hidden things were yet un-taught. Or, rather, a very young child who, upon hearing things meant for the ears of an adult, pesters his parent, yearning to know what is too great for his innocent mind.

"Don't you trust me?" Amandil asked at last.

"With my life, my son!" Romenasto said.

"Then why will you not give me this much?" he asked once more.

At last, Romenasto sighed heavily. He placed his hands upon Amandil's shoulders, then whispered something that only the two of them knew. When at last their hands parted, Amandil looked over himself, marveling as if he expected some sudden change to come over himself. Romenasto, however, seemed sad and now heavily burdened.

"Remember what I told you," he said to Amandil. "Your power comes from the Secret Fire, not by your own hand. Use it only for good, to heal Middle-Earth of its wounds and bind the hearts of its people."

Taking up his staff in his hand, Romenasto passed it over Amandil's face, muttering something quietly. This done, he bade his servant farewell and then went off to sleep.

* * *

><p>When Morinehtar and Romenasto awoke the next morning, they found that Amandil was no longer among them.<p>

"He's probably gone off to search for food," Morinehtar said. "He will return shortly."

"I have my doubts, my friend," Romenasto replied. "Did you not notice that he was coughing when I spoke to him last night?"

"I may have heard it, yes," the other returned. "But what does that mean?"

"Amandil has fallen ill," Romenasto stated. "I cannot believe I did not sense this earlier."

"Men take ill all the time in this land," Morinehtar stated. "They are not the Dunedain."

"But now it makes sense," Romenasto said. "Why he urged me to..." He came to a halt.

"Why he urged you to what?" Morinehtar asked. Romenasto sighed heavily, letting slip by his body language a hint of something horrible. Morinehtar's face blanched as he spoke next:

"Brother, what have you done?"

Romenasto sighed and began to tell him all that had been happening over the past several years. How Amandil had slowly grown disinterested and distant, and at last revealed that it was because he desired a measure of Romenasto's power: and how he had at last given in to Amandil's persuasion and imparted a small portion of his power to the man. Morinehtar looked utterly shocked as he took his seat around the ashes of the camp-fire.

"This is grave news indeed," he said at last. "We were not to match the might of Sauron with power of our own." He got himself up to his feet, staff in hand. "Come, now, we have to find him."

"Why?"

"Why else?" Morinehtar scoffed. "He's running loose in Rhun with the power of the Istari! Why _shouldn't_ we go out in search of him?"

"But what if our teachings have paid off?" Romenasto asked. "What if, by now, he is mature enough to use this power for good?"

* * *

><p>The two Wizards walked south from their present position, toward the skirts of the mountains. Here they saw two lengths of rock, like arms of the mountain, reaching out into the plain. From the middle of that ring of rock there rose smoke and the sound of people and animals at work. This was rather odd, for they remembered having passed by this mountain-side before, and yet hadn't recognized this village before. Perhaps it was the protection of the two arms of the mountain, which kept those coming from the south northwards from seeing the village.<p>

The stench of death was heavy upon the village as the two old men made their way to the gates. They were made of wood, a laughable defense, but a group of guards all clad in black guarded the entrance and patrolled the walls. Within the confines of the village, those who walked about kept their heads down and walked slowly. There was one, however, who walked upright, clad all in black like the rest.

Curiosity took the best of them, and they walked towards the village. The guards rose to stop them, their long-shafted, ax-headed pole-arms brought down against them.

"If you please," Morinehtar greeted. "We're mere travelers, seeking refuge in your village."

"None shall pass," one of the guards announced.

"You shan't tell me not to pass!" Romenasto added.

"No one has permission to enter or leave this village," the other guard stated. "It is quarantined by the Divine Emperor, to stop the spread of sickness."

But Morinehtar sensed, from the guard's voice, that what he had spoken was not true. "I see a monastery near the edge of the mountains. It seems to be active. Why are the people not knocking on its doors, pleading for aid?"

"That is not for you to know, stranger," the guard replied.

Suddenly, a black-robed figure appeared. It's face was shrouded by a mask that was similar to the one the Imperial soldiers wore. No face was visible, not even hands, for all were clad in sable, as black as night.

"Welcome, _adari_, to Karahn'klem." the figure greeted.

"The White Plague," Romenasto interpreted. "You, I know your voice! Why have you done this?"

"Me?" the black-clad figure laughed. "I've outgrown you all. Even though you molested me as a child, I absorbed your powers through my torment." As the dark figure spoke, people of the town started gathering about, angry words on their lips.

"Lies, all lies," Romenasto interjected. "We never laid a hand on you!"

"I should thank you for doing it," the figure said. "For, as you can see, I now possess powers that shall bring eternal glory to Gor'khan's mighty name."

"Have we taught you nothing," Morinehtar asked. "Or has it all been lost on your ears, the words of truth all in vain?"

"There is no truth," the dark-clad one said. "There are no Valar, no Eru, no Amandil." The figure then removed the helmet, and began un-swathing the black robes over his face. When at last the black veil fell to the cold, hard ground, even the Blue Wizards stepped back in shock. For there was the face of Amandil Moren'tai, even as they knew him, and yet his face was not as they knew him: it was old, aged beyond his years, and rotting as if he were already dead.

"What have you done?" Romenasto asked in horror.

"This is a gift," he laughed. "I am happy to be blessed with the Karahn'klem, that Gor'khan might see what it shall do before he unleashes it upon the White Giants and their allies." Suddenly, a black staff appeared in Moren'tai's hand, and Romenasto was thrust down upon the ground on his back.

"Now I have the power, and now _I_ am your masters!" Fire burned from his hands as he struck down Morinehtar second, laughing recklessly as he did.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: All sorts of reasons why this could or could not have come out, but now it's out.)<strong>

**(As far as the details, let me clarify herein. Just as, in _Wicked_, the heroine is more or less innocent of the crimes it has been accused of, so, in this tale at least, the Blue Wizards did not start the Gor'khan-worshiping cult with malicious intent, but they were still at its root, and the servants of the cult will tell tales that the Blue Wizards gave them the power, so that when Curunir finally travels into the East, that is the story he takes back with him to the West.)**

**(For how Amandil-Moren'tai lied about how he got his power, that is based on an actual Nordic legends regarding _seidr_, which say that a man must be the passive role in the bed-chamber to receive the gift of _seidr_ [the same goes for other kinds of magic described in Medieval Europe]. Just how Tolkien borrowed from Germanic lore for _Lord of the Rings_, I feel compelled to do likewise**** with this.)**


	7. The Emperor

**(AN: Here is the new chapter of this story!)  
><strong>

**(You know, it's easy to call someone who trusts the Easterlings 'blind' when you, as the omniscient reader, know that the Easterlings are called 'evil'. However, there is such a thing as trust and mercy, for even those who are your 'enemies'. Romenasto showed that trust, and Moren'tai betrayed it. I would liken this to an example of an ex-con who's been convicted of a crime they _did_ commit, but tried to plead not-guilty, in that prejudice was the driving factor of their accusers. Their advocate trusted them and defended them, but the ex-con was leading them all on.)  
><strong>

**(Trust is a good thing, but evil men [and women] corrupt trust for their own purposes.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Emperor<strong>

Alatar stood upon the flets of the mallorn trees on the isle of Tol Eressa. Gathered here were the lords of the Valar, intent on their mission of the emissaries. There stood Manwe, the lord of the air, clothed in power and majesty, like a king, though he was but a servant to Eru Illuvatar, the One.

About him were the others: Varda, the Queen of the Stars, her dark hair glistening with the light of the rising moon. Next to her, no greater in beauty, if only a little less in majesty, was the guardian of growing things: Yavanna. Before them Alatar stood, along with his brothers, the tall and proud Curumo and the humble Olorin, whose blue eyes seemed to be constantly on the floor. Brilliant though it was, Alatar didn't think that he should appear so ashamed at this great task before them.

"You have been chosen," Manwe addressed. "Because the Shadow falls upon the Mortal lands. Your task is to oppose Sauron and aid those who are his enemies. The only bond that I lay upon you is this: that you are not to match the might of Sauron with your own power, or force dominion over the races of Middle Earth. Is this understood?"

One by one, starting with Curumo, they bowed before the lords of the Valar. They walked down from the tree and stood now at the shores of the great sea. At its foot there stood a white ship, with a prow shaped like a swan, manned by several of the Teleri. Manwe bade farewell once more to Curumo, then sent him on his way, with Aiwendil joining up just as Curumo was about to embark upon the ship.

Once his ship was dwindling out into the distance, the reluctant Curumo bowed before Manwe, his own ship ready for departure. Varda walked toward him and whispered words of encouragement into his ear, after which he bowed and took his leave.

"You wish to speak?" Varda asked, looking at Alatar.

"If it pleases your graces," he said, bowing to each of them. "As you have seen fit to send Curumo with a companion, I would relish the honor to have a companion of my own for my travels."

"Name him who would be your companion." Manwe ordered.

"Pallando," was his response.

* * *

><p>"What?" the old man grumbled.<p>

Morinehtar muttered the name, extending his hand out toward where the blue-clad young sage was standing. His eyes were still shut, and he could neither see nor feel anything.

"You awake already?" a voice asked.

Morinehtar's eyes cracked open, and the golden dream vanished into the darkness of reality. He was not on Tol Eressa, that was long ago: he was in a cart, being dragged like a prisoner down a road in the middle of the East. The last he recalled was fire burning from the hands of Moren'tai, and suddenly he knew no more.

"Yes," he grumbled back. "I knew this would happen."

"That we would be in a prison cart, on our way to the Emperor?" Romenasto replied, fey laughter escaping his lips.

"That Easterling brat," he grumbled. "Would betray us. He used your trust to his advantage."

"Our task cannot be if we do not earn the trust of these people," Romenasto confirmed.

"And look where that got us," Morinehtar sighed. "I'm almost certain the people of the East will be worshiping Moren'tai as if he were a god, now that you gave him power."

"I don't understand," Romenasto said.

"The 'Men of Darkness', as the Eldar call them," Morinehtar began. "Are superstitious beyond belief. They worshiped fire, they worshiped wind, rain, the sun, even the Dark Lord of Mordor. If Moren'tai but waves his hand, showing off his great power, he will have people worshiping him as if he were Gor'khan's prophet."

"We don't know anything about this Gor'khan," Romenasto sighed. "Though, from what I've gathered, he's hardly something to be worshiped. Human sacrifice, blood orgies with orcs, a tithe of the people of Rhun: they're enslaved!"

"Yes, and they think the Eldar and the Edain are enslaved to the Valar," Morinehtar replied woefully.

"That is the lie, my friend," Romenasto replied. "They don't realize, the Valar give Elves and Men the freedom to act according to their own desires: what slave-master, what tyrant, gives his people freedom of will?"

"Tell that to the guards outside," Morinehtar replied with a fey smile and empty laughter.

* * *

><p>At least two days passed as the two old men remained chained inside the cart, being led down the road they knew not where it would lead. They eventually became used to the rumbling cart and were, fortunately, able to rest at certain intervals during their travel. The first day, after they woke up, they saw nothing but the rolling plains of the East. They were beautiful, to say the least, rivaling the oceans of grass of Calenardhon. There were no signs of life or villages anywhere: it was unnerving to pass through long stretches of empty land, devoid of all save for the masked soldiers who led their prison wagon. When the light of the sun faded far beyond the golden plains of Rhovanion, the land was turned into a sea of darkness. Their captors lit lanterns and held them over the front of the cart, but no rays of light fell upon the prisoners.<p>

On the second day, towns began to appear in the distance. As they passed through, children ran along the cart and threw rotten food, mud and excrement at the two old men. Morinehtar was the saddest, to see the servants of the Valar disgraced as such. Yet he was not as proud as Curumo, did not lash out: yet he was ashamed of how low the Easterlings had fallen. Romenasto looked at the people in sorrow, hearing the children and their parents swear and rail upon them in the name of their tyrant Gor'khan: this was all the life they knew, all the purpose that they had in their world. It seemed like a waste of life to him.

About mid-day on the third day, the two old men were roused from their slumber by the guards. Without further word, they were pushed out of the cart and brought before a very tall structure, whose roof was made of polished gold, yet the walls were of black stone. All the soldiers who guarded the ways were clad in golden armor, yet their other livery was black as the night. While the guards were making trial of the chains they placed on the two old men, a man appeared from the doors of the tall palace, who appeared to be an adviser or councilman. His robes were red, bedecked with gold, jewels and trophies of those he would like others to believe he himself had slain.

"My lord!" one of the guards greeted, bowing before him. "Here is the message from his Excellency, Moren'tai the Black." He presented to the councilman a scroll concealed on his person, which he unfurled and gave to the councilor to read. After examining its contents thoroughly, he turned to the two old men.

"Some evil craft lies heavily about you," he sneered at them. "You're too old to be any true men, and you reek of Elves and White Giants." Suddenly, he looked about, as if another person had appeared that only he could hear or detect.

"Yes, Your Worship," the councilman bowed at the invisible person. He then turned to the two old men. "Follow me, now. The Emperor is expecting you."

* * *

><p>At the command of the robed councilman, two guards pushed open the doors of the palace. The captain who had led the two wizards to the palace now bound their wrists with chains and lashed them together; that neither one could escape without the other, or that one would have to drag the other should one of them be injured or killed. He did not follow after them, the councilman said that was unnecessary and out of protocol. There was no need because, as far as the councilman could see, the two old men were not only older than the oldest 'true' men, they had no weapons, neither did they appear to be great warriors. Lastly, protocol demanded that no one should see the Emperor unless they were summoned by him personally. This was held to both prevent the ambitious and to increase the fear of the Emperor's power.<p>

The councilman led Morinehtar and Romenasto through a long, broad hallway. There were no windows on the side, only on the wall that was currently to their backs. From its barred recesses, narrow shafts of light fell upon the floor but had no power to dispel the darkness that loomed ahead of them, into which the councilman was leading them. Very soon they were engulfed in darkness, groping about on the floor like blind men, the only sound the clanking of the chains against each other. Suddenly, the councilman laughed: in the empty, high-ceiling hall, it reverberated and echoed off every surface, until the old men thought a hundred mocking faces were cackling at them from out of the darkness.

"You grovel already?" the councilman sneered. The chains clanked again and the two old men found themselves being thrust suddenly forward. In the gloom and dark, they could not see which way he was leading them, nor could they see their way: wherefore, the Blue Wizards allowed themselves to be led by the councilman into the dreadful ever-night.

As with those who travel beneath the earth (though it is marveled that Durin's folk, who spend so much time under the earth, are not endowed by this boon), the other senses of the two old men were heightened by the loss of sight. Their fingers, reaching out every so often to feel where they were, found little other than hard wood and freezing cold stone. Their noses detected a horrid, rank stench, as of a thousand years of filth and decay heaped and vomited upon itself. The air in their mouths became icy cold, as if they were leaving behind the sun and all memories of warmth and heat behind them as they walked onward into this cold, dark, dreadful hallway.

Suddenly they stumbled, and began to feel ahead of them with their hands, as much as the councilman with the chain in his hands could allow. They were now going up a long flight of stairs, one that seemed to wind back and forth in a great spiral. This, they deemed, as done in the event of a coup. Long could this Emperor of theirs defend his throne with a handful of elite guards against any enemy with narrow, winding stair-wells like these, that nullified a sea of foes into a shuffling double-file, making an uphill battle against the entrenched defenders above.

Help from below was impossible, if not already hopeless.

They came at last into a room, whose size could not be guessed for the lack of light. All was cold, like the chilly winds of the highest peaks of the Red Mountains. No light could pierce the darkness in this room, and therefore their eyes could do no better. The sound of chains ceased, and they found themselves groping once again, looking for the one who was leading them. He made no sound, not even the ragged breathing he had made while dragging them up the winding stairs.

There was a sudden intake of air, and the room became even colder. The iron chains on their wrists froze them to the bone, so much that they felt as though they were made of fire. But most disturbing of all, they became distinctly aware that they were not alone, though they could see nothing more than the darkness, holding whatever nightmare awaited the right moment to strike.

"Here we are," Morinehtar spoke at last. "Unarmed, your prisoners. Why does the Emperor not show himself? Huh? Let the Emperor of the East show his face before his enemies!"

There was a sound of metal striking flesh, and the old man was thrown to the ground.

"Silence, old fool!" a voice spoke from out of the darkness. It was cold and harsh, thin and rasping, like the hissing of serpents. It moved so quickly that the two old men could not tell where it was, or whether there were more of them.

"You are in my empire," the voice slowly hissed, echoing mockingly off the empty walls. "I shall dictate the terms of your life and death."

"Why are we here?" Morinehtar asked again, but was struck back down to the ground once more.

"I shall do the asking," the voice bit back. "Your slave, Moren'tai the Black, stole something precious from you. Now he gives your gift and your fire freely to my people, in preparation for Gor'khan's great will."

"Aha!" Morinehtar retorted. "It was stolen, under a false pretense of earnesty and a desire to know deep knowledge beyond his being."

"Touching deep lore," the voice hissed. "Who shall play governor over who shall be given leave to delve the secrets of the world? The Eldar? They have forsaken this world for their much-coveted immortality. The Valar?" At this, the voice laughed a hideous, sharp scream that chilled them to the bone. "Immortality is the gift of Gor'khan, the gift the Valar selfishly hoard to themselves, denying man our right."

"Ah, so you're human!" Morinehtar replied.

"I have nothing more to say to you," the voice returned. After a long, drawn-out hiss of a breath, the voice spoke again, high and cold and unnerving. "And you!" Though there was no light or sign by which they could see where the speaker was, they knew that Romenasto was being addressed. "Why do you remain silent?"

"Mine is the helping hand," Romenasto returned.

"Help?" the voice breathed, then laughed once more, which sent them covering their ears. "Fool! There is no strength in all of Middle-earth to avail your certain...death."

"Enough talk!" Morinehtar roared. He leaped up from where he had been kneeling, his chained hands held aloft. In one hand there hovered a faint light, bright enough to illuminate somewhat of where they stood. They could now see each other, and the black stone floor on which they stood.

"You will release us," he spoke to the darkness. "Or no power of the East shall save you from your reckoning!"

Once more, the wretched sound of the hissing, cackling screech of laughter was heard. Without a sound, a face appeared from out of the darkness. It was covered by a steel mask, with a strange emblem upon the forehead. They could not discern it in this dim light, for the figure wore a black hood shrouding most of its face and it was robed all in black.

"Fools!" a voice hissed from behind the mask. "The Shadow is not banished, only biding its time. Soon, it will engulf all the lands of the East, and the West...even as the _Karahn'klem_ shall bring your people to their knees!"

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Can you guess who this is? Have I left it too obvious, or is it still too vague?)<strong>


	8. Escape

**(AN: Lol, off by a mile!)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Escape<strong>

The two Wizards looked fearfully into the darkness, their eyes searching for the tell-tale glow of Morinehtar's light on the shadowy figure of the Easterling emperor. It had vanished once more into the room, darkened with heavy shadows that even Morinehtar's light could not fully dispel.

"Reveal yourself," Morinehtar spoke into the darkness. "Fallen lord of the East."

"'Fallen?'" queried the high-pitched, cold, hissing voice from the shadows. "The gift of Gor'khan is too great to be dismissed as 'falling.'"

"Why do you fear the light?" Morinehtar asked. "Only the beasts and bastard inbreeds of Morgoth fear the light."

The emperor laughed again, so piercing that Romenasto was doubled over, both of his hands covering his ears.

"I return with another question, old fool," the voice hissed. "Why do you fear the dark?"

"Begone from this place!" Morinehtar exclaimed in a loud voice. "You behold a servant of the Secret Fire, that which Morgoth coveted and yet was ever beyond his power!"

All at once, Morinehtar seemed to grow, the light in his hand growing even brighter. Now he towered taller even than the greatest of the Men of the West, the 'White Giants'. In his hand was no staff, yet the power that radiated off him was as the coming of the sun.

With a loud cry, Morinehtar held out his hand and there was a flash of light and a strong smell of sulfur. A loud screech, like the call of some vile creature out of the forgotten depths of the Dark Days, echoed across every wall and board and brick in the darkened throne room. With a hiss the blackened figure rose in opposition to Morinehtar. Its mask was discarded, lying on the floor, yet there was no face beneath it under the hood.

For a moment, Morinehtar seemed to falter, whispering _Ai! Elbereth!_ as he saw the identity of this figure. Another blood-chilling screech came from the fathomless depths of the empty hood, and suddenly a sword rang as it was drawn from its secret sheath.

But Morinehtar was unarmed, save for the flaming orb in his hand. Even more so, Romenasto was still chained to him and lying on the floor, which made certain that he could not hope to escape on his own. This brought to light the fact that he could not bring about their combined escape while attempting to hold his own, unarmed, against this foe.

The emperor knew this, and with a blood-chilling cry, lunged at Morinehtar, sword in hand. The fire in Morinehtar's hand leaped out and struck the emperor in the robes. The blackened figure was now a blaze of brilliant, nature flame that illuminated the hall. Picking Romenasto up onto his feet and taking him by the hand, they ran to the edge of the hall, chains in hand and clanking behind them. Once they reached the wall, they took the heavy chains in hand and started swinging them at the wall. This they did seven times, though no apparent damage was done. Behind them, the flaming figure of the emperor was starting to grow faint and dark, the cold setting in once again. They didn't have much time before the fire was out and he retaliated.

"Together, my friend!" Morinehtar shouted.

As one, the two old men threw themselves against the wall they had been striking with their chains. It broke under their combined weight, and they found themselves in an empty antechamber, unlit just as the throne room had been. They ran down the hall, and found it terminating in two corridors: one leading to the left and one tapering back to the right, back toward the general direction of the throne room. In their haste, they chose the left, hoping to put as much distance between them and the emperor.

It became easy to find their way away from the throne room, because the temperature started to climb the farther they got from the throne room. It was now bearably cold, much more than the unnatural chill that inhabited the darkness of the throne room. As they made their way onward, encountering no guards along the darkened hall, they suddenly felt a strong warmth emanating from one of the doors to their immediate right.

"No," Romenasto said. "We must keep moving! The alarm hasn't sounded yet, we might yet escape unnoticed!"

"No, no," Morinehtar whispered. "There were no fires or lamps in the hall, I wonder why there is the heat of a fire coming from this room."

The two approached the door, which was unlocked and opened quietly beneath their touch. Within the room, their eyes were first met by the blazing heat coming from an open hearth at the far end of the room. Gathered here, in small groups of three, were men in black robes, their faces obscured by a red veil. They seemed to be scholars, by their robes, and the fact that they perused tomes and scrolls gathered on small tables in the midst of their groups. After a while of examining them, one from their number would gather several of the scrolls and tomes and deliver them to one who stood at the mouth of the hearth, who then threw the documents into the flames.

As they were about to leave, the clinking of their chains gave them away. The scholars looked up from their work with unseen eyes, gazing at the two old men with curious interest. They never saw anyone besides themselves in their endless duty to their emperor, and they didn't know what to make of the newcomers.

Suddenly, Morinehtar leaped from where he stood, dragging Romenasto after him, and crossed the room to the hearth. The scholar at the mouth of the hearth had just thrown in another load of documents, but Morinehtar's timely arrival saved one scroll just as its corner was starting to ignite.

"Villains!" one of the haggard-voiced scholars cried out. "Thieves! They must not disrupt the emperor's work! Call the guards!"

One of the scholars was already out the door, robed arms flailing about as his old, nasally voice was crying out for help. It was too late to think about a quiet, orderly escape now. With their catch in hand, Morinehtar and Romenasto leaped back out of the room and continued on their way down the hall. Suddenly, the noise of a bell sounded, and long and deep were its tolls.

"Well, they know we're here now," Romenasto said. "We won't be able to go down the normal way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the stairs. Look, we need to find another way out of the palace before we're captured!"

Morinehtar made his way toward the wall, gave the scroll to Romenasto, then conjured a fire-ball into his empty hand, which he threw at the wall. The wall was now scorched, the wood black and burning. In this weakened state, the wooden boards broke away easily and the two were soon crawling out of the hall and onto the roof of one of the upper levels of the palace. The roof-tiles were smooth and the roof slanted, so when they stepped out, they soon found themselves sliding off the roof as one slides off the edge of a steep ravine.

* * *

><p>The city of Rhun, capital of the Empire of Rhun, was on high alert. A recent attack on the emperor had set all the guards of the palace on full alert, and the guards and patrols of the city were also told to look out for two old men wearing blue. Patrols of imperial soldiers, armed in golden mail and bearing pole-arms, ran through the city, searching for the two old men. The gates were closed and a double watch was placed upon all exits. Even as the gates were closing, a single cart, led by a bent man with a wide-brimmed hat, slowly creaked out of the city gates.<p>

Once the walls of the city of Rhun were left far behind, the bent man straightened up and removed his wide-brimmed hat, revealing Morinehtar. He turned back at the bail of hay in the cart and struck it, where at Romenasto emerged, covered in hay as he took his side at the head of the cart.

"You know," Romenasto began. "There are some things that don't make sense about what happened in the palace. I mean, for someone as important as their emperor, I would have thought he would have had more guards throughout his palace."

"Oh, there were guards," Morinehtar said, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke.

"There were?"

"Could you not feel them? The palace halls were colder than the depths of winter, and the air was thick and foul within our throats. Only the light I summoned..." He bowed his head. "I dare not mention them again. _Their_ shadow should never darken the light of day. It is good enough that we escaped them as best we could."

"Ah, praise to the Valar indeed," Romenasto said. "That emperor of theirs, though. I have a strange feeling about him."

Morinehtar turned to his companion with a severe expression upon his face.

"Then you have felt it as well," he said, his voice low and barely heard over the clanking of the wheels and the _clip-clop_ of the horses' hooves. "I fear what we have witnessed this day was that which the Wise have only spoken of in dread and fearful whispers for the past thousand years. My old friend, I think their emperor is a Ringwraith."

At this statement, Romenasto's face became void of any color that once remained.

"But, how can that be? It could be a lesser wraith, or some other kind of wight whose master we know not yet."

"I'm not exactly a master of ring-lore," Morinehtar said. "But I do know that which all the Wise know. Do you remember how it went?"

_Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky  
>Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone<em>

"_Nine for mortal men, doomed to die,_" Romenasto finished. "But are you so positive that this one was a Ringwraith? I mean, do you know what kind of consequences that entails?"

"I know," Morinehtar exclaimed sorrowfully. "And I hope that I am wrong."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I guess you can more or less guess by now who the 'emperor' is: you might be closer to the mark now. In the next chapter, we get to see Saruman again [it is said he went into the East and therefore crossed paths with the Blue Wizards, most likely], and all doubts will be brought to an end therein. [that's all I'll say])<strong>


	9. The White Wizard

**(AN: I thank you for waiting. The past months have been horrible and I've had no desire to write anything. But, since listening to Phil Dragash's audio book of _Lord of the Rings_ [find it on YouTube, it is _VERY_ good], I have gotten a new appreciation for Tolkien lore, and therefore have decided to return to this story. We still have lots to go, perhaps I will reach twenty chapters, but whatever end, you will enjoy this story [hopefully].)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The White Wizard<strong>

The fields of Araw, the farthermost west of the lands of Rhun. Hither Romenasto and Morinehtar came at last, for how many months or years of wandering they knew not. News of their presence, it seemed, had gotten out and those loyal to the Emperor of Rhun were now searching for them across all the lands. But the Empire's reign was not that vast, not yet, at least. There were some places they could go where they were safe, notwithstanding they were few in number. North lay the lands of the wild men of Rhun and the Wain-riders, barbarous men who held no allegiance to any but themselves. To the east a great shadow clung to the Red Mountains, even as it had over the land of Mordor. To the south was Mordor proper, and while the Gates of Guard at Cirith Udun and Minas Ithil stood and guarded the lands of the West from the threat of the east, the Moredain, the Black Numenoreans, still held sway over the lands of shadow.

Here, on the borders of the plains of Araw and the Brown Lands, the Blue Wizards had first met the people of the village of Ghari'ban. It was still many miles north, closer to the shores of the inland sea of Rhun, or Andu'gaer, as it was known in the language of the East. But it was also here, on the farthest lands of Rhun in the distant west, was there any hope of safety for the fugitives.

The land was flat and roughly arid for many miles around, neither a great desert or very turfy. Steppe-like scrub dominated the land, with the only bushes being stunted shrubs no taller than Elendil the Tall. This land was unfit for anything save for wild kine which grew in great numbers and greater stature than those of the West. Even as the two old men walked along the flat land, eying the fields of cattle, their white coats shimmering in the midday sun, they felt that an Elf could walk the length of Rhun, from the fields of Araw to the shores of the Hildo'ren, on the backs of these great beasts without his foot ever touching the earth.

"Shall we return in dread and defeat into the West?" asked Romenasto. "Ever since our escape from the Emperor, we have been on the run ever since."

"We've come to where we need to be, for now," Morinehtar answered. "Word must get back to the West of what has happened."

"But whom can we trust to send a message to our friends and allies in the West?" Romenasto returned. "The Easterlings fear the Men of the West and the Elves, they will not venture into their lands unless at great need."

"And who among th..." began Morinehtar, but he halted even as the words were in his mouth. He spoke then in a whispered voice. "Hark! We are not alone."

"What do you see?" Romenasto replied.

"Over yonder," Morinehtar pointed through the branches of the nearby forest of scrubby trees. "Methinks I see an old man, hooded and cloaked, walking among the trees upon a staff."

At the description, Romenasto's countenance rose. "Could it be one of our order?"

"I cannot tell."

"The Men of the East do not live long, therefore they would have no elders. What color is his face?"

But while they were whispering, the stranger appeared from out of the scrub. He was tall, hooded and cloaked all in white and leaning upon a black staff. His hood obscured his face, leaving only his beard, long, white and streaked with black, sticking out of the depths of his hood.

"Well met," the stranger spoke, using the common tongue of the West. His voice was deep, yet melodious. Without even thinking, the two old men relaxed their posture. For in their ears, the voice of this stranger was the voice of one they could trust, a lone friend in a dark and perilous wilderness.

"Long has it been since any have passed this way, speaking the Westron tongue," Morinehtar was the first to speak. "Who are you, good sir?"

"I am called many names," the old man said. "But among the Eldar, I am Curunir, wisest of the Order of the Istari."

At once, the two wizards bowed before their superior, breathing quiet sighs of relief. Long indeed had it been since their paths had crossed in Imladris, and longer still had they been in the company of any whom they considered friendly.

"Come now, Alatar, my good friend," Curunir spoke. "Let us walk together and speak of those things which have passed between us in the long count of years since our departure in Imladris."

"I am at your service, Curumo," Morinehtar bowed, then rose to his feet and walked with the white wizard. Romenasto followed on behind, like a child listening to that which was not meant for him, dark councils beyond his understanding.

"If you recall our last meeting," Curunir began. "In the house of Elrond Peredhil, I questioned the lord concerning Ring-lore. In the years since then, I have learned precious little from those who count themselves enemies of the One Enemy. My suspicion has grown since the Kingdom of Thranduil, which Men call Greenwood the Great, has fallen under the shadow. Men now tremble at the mention of its name and dare to venture into the dark recesses of the forest. Mirkwood they call it, after the name of that wood in Beleriand that is no more that fell under the shadow of Morgoth: _Taur-nui-Fuin_. As I explained to Elrond before, I am convinced that the existence of one of the Ringwraiths, inhabiting the Elven fortress in Mirkwood which the Elves now call Dol Guldur, is proof of the return of the Dark Lord of Mordor."

"Loth would I be," Morinehtar replied. "To bear ill tidings to one of so great lore, stern and proud, yet the fear of what I have seen is still great upon my heart. For Pallando and I have passed into the land of the Easterlings and your suspicions, wise Curumo, are certainly true. A Ringwraith rules over the Men of the East, dictating the will of the Dark Lord upon the people over a thousand years after his departure."

Curunir's face was grim yet emotionless. They passed now the eaves of the short forest and were once again upon the plains. The sunlight seemed traitorous, hovering above their heads in the heat of midday. It was as though its light made them horribly naked and visible before some great will of power, hiding within the shadows of the Red Mountains, far in the East.

"Grave are these tidings you bring to my ears, Alatar," the old man continued. "But not wholly unexpected. If the Ringwraiths abide still, then it is more than possible that the Ruling Ring survives. It seems that I have come hither in the very nick of time. I shall travel this land and learn if only one of the Nine survives or if all of them have survived, hidden in the shadows of the East. I would also feign to learn aught of their rings and how they work."

"But, my lord," Romenasto suddenly spoke up. "It is perilous here in the East. They do not trust us, and we..." He paused.

"It matters not," Curunir continued, ignoring Romenasto's interruption. "You are with Curunir the Wise, whom the Men of the North call Saruman. If you so wish, you may travel with me. You will be safe."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: This story has been without an update for far too long. Aside from the many other stories of mine which have been getting attention and lack of inspiration as well as college, there's not much else to say.)<strong>

**(The _aurochs_ of Araw are from the book, the wild kine of Rhun. Boromir's horn was made out of the horn of one such beast. And, on a side-note, do you remember those giant creatures that bore Grond in _Return of the King_ [specifically the film version's depiction of them]? Well, they haven't been explained yet. My hypothesis, as far as this story goes, is that they are an amalgam of aurochs and trolls, bred to great size, for heavy labor in Mordor, particularly Nurn.)  
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**(I've got a story to go on, having done some much-needed research on what little is known of the East, and hope to update soon.)  
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	10. The Blacklocks

**(AN: So, I saw _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Adventure_ the day after it came out and I've got to say that Peter Jackson seems to have learned his lesson, but not enough for my liking. The Blue Wizards..."I don't remember them" is all they get, not to mention the Seventh Doctor as a shroom-addicted Radagast [I say in the words of Saruman: "Radagast the Bird-tamer, Radagast the Simple, Radagst the Fool"], but of all those little nit-picking things [like Azog's refusal to wear armor, or even a shirt], the WORST had to be when they rewrote the history of the fall of the Witch-king of Angmar. As Glorfindel _still _doesn't exist, there's no prophecy [so how do we know that Eowyn is the only one who can defeat the Witch-king again?] and they "kill" the Witch-king, even though weapons were supposed to do no damage to him or even hurt those who attacked him. And that whole 'buried in an impregnable vault with a Morgul blade on his chest' seems a little bit too honorable of a death, especially since the Witch-king defiled the graves of the dead Arnorians in Cardolan, and no mention of Earnur [then again, according to PJ, Isildur was the last king of Gondor].)  
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**(In good news, they stuck to the skeleton of the story rather well, with many quotes from the book, they sang "That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates" while still sounding like it belongs in Middle-Earth [unlike the cartoon _Hobbit_] and they finished the chorus of "We Must Away", and Smeagol stole the show! But in other good news, I'm back to deliver more of this story, and there's something here that is referenced in _The Hobbit_ [the book, not the movie], which is the reason I brought up that lengthy rant about the movie.)  
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><p><strong>The Blacklocks<strong>

_year unknown, T.A._

Time passes unmarked by those on the road, long detatched from habitable lands. For the wanderers, the three old men, time seemed to have come to a halt. Though they wandered among the lands of men, where the passing from one season to another and from one year to another were as apparent as the night and the day, they were untouched. Old were they when they left the East and old were they now still. The passing of the seasons was of little concern, especially to Curunir, to whom the ways of the world were never his study.

Yet even so, as one year passed and more were added, they soon learned that something was wrong in the world. Though they, unlike Aiwendil, could not speak the tongues of animals, they learned enough by simply watching and being wary of the signs that even men could read. Animals were migrating west from their homes in the east. Wild animals, beasts of prey and hunters, were fleeing from their caves and dens. Something was festering in the shadow-covered lands of the East, beyond the sight of even the most far-sighted lords of the West.

Thus it was that on midsummer's day, many years after they had begun their journey, they gazed out upon the lands of the far east. A great burning shadow, like the onset of a storm, brewing and broiling in dark years uncounted, hovered above the spires of the Red Mountains. Beyond lay a wide plain that had decayed from golden-green steppes into brown rock and earth.

"The Red Mountains," Curunir said, gazing upon the last vestiges of this great mountain range. "Thus it has ever been called in the Common Tongue, since the Elder Days, when Man first woke and saw the sun's first rays touch the tips of those mountains."

"They don't look so red anymore," Morinehtar commented concernedly.

"A darkness is gathering," Curunir replied, his proud tone fraught with curiosity more than concern. "I felt it as we first set foot upon this accursed ground. There is great evil beyond."

"Was not the first fortress of the Dark Lord beyond?" Romenasto queried, gesturing to the mountains.

"Yes," Curunir sighed, as though he were explaining something apparent and obvious to a child who had asked the same question over and over again, trying his thin patience. "In the Elder Days, Utumno sat upon the bleak plateau behind those mountains. But in the War of Wrath that heralded the end of the Age, Beleriand was lost and the world was utterly marred. Utumno and most of the lands beyond the Helcar sank into the sea."

They halted in grim silence as they heard the name of Helcar. Thither Illuin had fallen and created that sea: thus was one of the greatest of Morgoth's crimes against the Valar committed and the ancient world lost its light. Only the Istari, servants of the Valar, remembered those years and the beauty of those great lamps. Greater light had they and beauty than the Two Trees, ever in the hearts, memories and song of the Eldar. Never again would the world see such light and beauty as the Two Lamps of Valinor, lost forever.

* * *

><p>Yet in the mountains they would venture, for in that land where once was great light, there now lay indomitable shadow. They would learn the secrets of what had driven the animals out of this land. Before them the dark red line of the Orocarni, the Red Mountains, loomed ever ahead of them, the last boundary at the edge of the world. Day was now well on its way away into the West, and the Wizards saw a broad valley, all of sand and gravel. From the hill upon which they stood to the foot of the mountains this valley stretched, going on endlessly northwards and southwards. From where they stood, the Wizards saw a black line making its way from the mountains.<p>

Though the Wizards were unarmed in the usual sense, they were prepared for whatever might beset them and stood their ground, waiting for the line to approach. About ten minutes passed before they could see the black line was a caravan: wains loaded heavily with goods, weapons and gold that glimmered in the sunlight, were being pulled by Aurochs of mighty girth. Around them, riding them and in battle wains drawn by them were a sight they had not thought to see in a long time.

"Dwarves!" Morinehtar chuckled. "It's a caravan of dwarves."

"I caution you, though, from being too open with them," Curunir warned them. "These are not Durin's Folk: they might not show help to us."

"But that's why we have you," Romenasto whispered.

The Wizards turned towards the caravan, which was now soon upon them. Their vanguard of scouts had spotted the old men and were now pulling their battle-wains around them. Short bows bent their arrows towards them and hands rested on the hilts of axes. Curunir lifted one hand in greeting and spoke to them in a language that sounded harsh and guttural, even in his melodious voice. The Dwarves seemed surprised and whispered and muttered to each other in their own language for a while, before sending one of their scouts back to the caravan.

The scout returned, accompanied by a very important looking Dwarf, clad in fine gray traveling clothes with a belt of silver and rubies. His hair was black, and black was his great beard. He strode forward, eying the newcomers with a kind of uneasiness.

"The scouts told me you spoke to them in our language," the Dwarf said to the old men. "Tell me how did you steal this knowledge?"

"It was given and not stolen," Curunir said, and the two wizards could see that his words hung over the Dwarf's head for a while, but he seemed to gather his wits about himself.

"Who are you, Tharkun?" he asked. "You're too tall and pale to be one of the Gharki."

"We are travelers from out of the West," Curunir began. "We come in peace."

"Then leave in peace," the Dwarf replied. "And if you are indeed seeking peace, you've come the wrong way all together. My people are leaving this land, as it is no longer safe for us."

"What has happened?" Romenasto spoke up. Curunir looked at him as a parent does a child who speaks out of turn.

"The wyrms have been growing rather violent and territorial of late," the Dwarf said. "Our homes in the Mountain are no longer safe. We are going west, to the Iron Hills."

"What if I could convince you to turn about and return to your homes?"

"Then I would say you're a fool, Tharkun," the Dwarf said. "You are but three, we have many times that number among us. Even our women can wield axes with enough skill to cut you down, old man."

"You think we are weak just because we look old to your eyes, master Dwarf?" Curunir replied, his anger rising as his pride was being insulted. "We have power beyond the comprehension of your little mind!"

"Please, forgive my friend," Romenasto interjected. "He means well, but he is proud and quick to wrath. We only offer our help: we have an urgent duty in the mountains."

"It is death to enter those mountains in these dark days," the Dwarf replied. He sighed. "Nevertheless, let it not be said that Austri son of Alfar ever withheld the hand of hospitality. The day will soon be over and we will make camp for the night: you are welcome to stay with us and share in what food we have. Perhaps then we will have time for more words, and you will see how your business in the east is futile."

The Wizards nodded silently to each other, then agreed to join Austri's caravan that evening.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: No, I don't think I ever heard of that particular author. I based the human sacrifices to Gor'khan based on <em>Return of the King<em>, where Denethor refers to the "heathen kings of old" burning their dead, as well as what the Men of Dunharrow did in their time. I'm still trying to keep some mystique to my story, because I have a big reveal coming up and don't want to spoil it.)  
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**(Many say the Blue Wizards failed in their task, yet they don't even know what their task was. I have something or other of an idea for this story, and will go through with that and you will see what their final fate [in this story at least] will be. One thing, however, is that they need friends/allies. The Dwarves do exist in the far east, and we're leading up to something which you shall soon see, though you probably guessed what with the 'wyrms.')  
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**(I'll try to update as soon as possible. Once again, please review. They're always very helpful and I probably forgot to explain something, so please remind me/critique my writing. [Oh yes, I know that "Tharkun" was the name for Gandalf, but that pretty much means 'staff-man', which, at this time, they would call the Wizards].)  
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	11. Dwarves of the East

**(AN: Thank Eru/Elbereth/Odin for the _Dvergatal_. I thought I would have to come up with Dwarvish names all on my own, but I found the Norse poem which Tolkien used for the names of his Dwarves, so thank you. Austri's name comes from the name of the Dwarf of the East Wind, obviously that fits because of where we are. He's also _very_ important, as you shall soon see.)  
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><p><strong>Dwarves of the East<strong>

_T.A. 1630_

Nightfall on the foothills of the Orocarni. Austri's folk, whom he had introduced as the Blacklocks, made their camp in the fields. There was no threat of wild animals for, as the Wizards knew well enough, all the wild animals had fled the far east. Furthermore, the Dwarves set up sentries about the camp and their strong and sturdiness meant that they could stay up as well as any elf, if not better. Meanwhile, some of the rationed beer was being sent around and meats were being placed on the spits.

At the center of the camp, around one of the fires, Morinehtar and Romenasto sat looking at Austri, who was apparently some kind of leader among the Blacklocks. Curunir walked alone on the outskirts of the camp, and no one dared question his refusal to socialize. They ate what food was offered and drank the mead, which were both of good make.

"I think a pipe would go well here," Romenasto stated.

"I'm afraid we can't oblige you, Tharkun," Austri replied, shaking his beard. "Pipe-weed doesn't grow out here in the East, and it only comes this far in trade with the Longbeards. But we Blacklocks never see any barrels of the stuff: most of it goes to the Stonefoots or the Ironfists. It's as good as _mithril_ in some parts."

"Who are the Stonefoots and the Ironfists?" asked Morinehtar.

"Clans of the Dwarves," Austri began. "My people are the Blacklocks, known for our hair, black as coal. The other clans that inhabit the Red Mountains are the Ironfists, the Stiffbeards and the Stonefoots. Two of these, the Stiffbeards and the Ironfists, form a loose confederacy. The Ironfists are the most warlike of the clans: they hate everything not Dwarvish and they don't trust any of the other clans. The Stonefoots are the traders, with their caravans going among the Gharki and as far south as Khand and west as far as _Gazaz Bhanad_, the Iron Hills."

"You've mentioned the Gharki before," Romenasto said. "Who are they?"

"Men," Austri stated. "The ones who worship Gor'khan. It is said he gave the Seven Fathers gifts in the Dark Years, which brought them great wealth and power. But those are just legends. The Blacklocks do not worship Gor'khan: he imposes heavy taxes of man, beast and tribute, and demands sacrifices of blood for the price of his protection. Dwarves have never been beholden to anything or anyone."

"What brings you from the mountains?" asked Morinehtar.

"You ask many questions, Tharkun," Austri stated. He sighed. "Nevertheless, you seem trustworthy and you have an air about you, like one of the oldest and wisest of our people." He nodded. "I feel that I can trust you."

"Go on."

"Several hundred years ago," Austri continued. "The wyrms began pillaging the lower halls of our mountain kingdoms, driving us up to the surface. During that time, a plague came upon our people, but we endured. The wyrms, however, have not been so easy to assuage. They come for our gold, for no reason better than to steal it and hoard it from its rightful owners. So many of them have their been that we have chosen to leave our ancestral homes and make for the Iron Hills. Perhaps the Longbeards will be more accepting of us than the Stonefoots or the Ironfists."

Austri sighed, then removed his gloves to warm his hands by the fire.

"What is that?" Curunir asked. Both Morinehtar and Romenasto turned about and saw the tall, white-clad Wizard standing behind them, peering with his long nose at the Dwarf's hand.

"Iimulrun, the Ring of Gold," Austri said, gazing at it. The ring was a band of pure gold, engraved with straight, blocky images typical of Dwarven architecture. But upon the face of the ring was a facet of _mithril_ inlaid with a diamond. "This has been in my family for generations. My great-grandfather Anarr received his from the father of the Blackrocks in the days of Forin the Mighty, who fought with the _Khozoh-baram_ in the Great Battle of the Last Age. It is said the Ironfists fought in that battle as well, against Forin and his allies."

Curunir took a seat next to Austri and began asking him questions. Morinehtar gestured with his head for Romenasto to part, and so they did, stepping away from the fire and coming to a place apart from the company where they could share a few words in private.

"What do you make of that?" Morinehtar asked. "Curunir only became interested when he saw Austri's ring."

"Well, that was his mandate," Romenasto replied. "Nevertheless, he is the most powerful of our order and he will no doubt want to visit the other clans to see their rings, or at least learn more about them."

"So?"

"So, we should go with him," Romenasto suggested. "And offer our help to the Blacklocks."

"I strongly caution against it," Morinehtar shook his head in disapproval. "The last time we offered our help to these people, we started a cult!"

"A cult?" Curunir asked. The two wizards saw their comrade was standing near them, a suspicious glare in his deep eyes. Whether he had indeed finished his conversation with Austri and was now coming to them by intent, or whether he had overheard them, they could not guess. But the look in his eyes was certainly not one of approval.

"Do you not remember your mandate?" he asked reprimandingly. "You were explicitly ordered not to use your power to rule over the races of Men!"

"It was unintentional," Morinehtar stated.

"It was my fault," Romenasto said with head-bowed. "I put my trust in a man who betrayed us. Morinehtar is not at fault in this matter."

"When I return to the West," Curunir said. "I will tell of your failure." He sighed. "As it seems, that shall not yet come to pass. I purpose to enter the mountains, and I will need these Dwarves to come with us. You may tag along at my tail if you desire so."

Curunir then turned about and walked back to Austri. He sat himself down next to the Dwarf and began elaborating on how a return to the Red Mountains would be profitable to the Dwarves and successful if they went with them. The Blue Wizards kept their distance, for this was Curunir's skill and he was proud and would not permit interruption from them. Nevertheless, they hoped and prayed the Valar would keep them from making another blunder as they had with Moren'tai.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Big reveal coming up in the next chapter, but I had to set some things down in stone. If the Blue Wizards disappeared into the East, never to return, how is it even guessed that they started cults? My guess is that Saruman said such when he returned from the East, which is why I have such here. I mentioned Forin from <em>Last Alliance<em>, and with the appearance of Iimulrun, I'm sure you can guess where we're going. Obviously, Saruman's voice can convince the Dwarves to return to the Red Mountains to do his business. But what that business may be is not for this chapter to tell, not yet at least.)**

**(As there is precious little Khuzdul in Tolkien's works, I've had to work outside a bit for some of the words. Thramili's Khuzdul from the _LotrO_ community web-page was used for all non-Tolkien words, and "Gharki" is one I made up, meaning roughly "Gor'khan's slaves" or "-followers" in Khuzdul, refering all-inclusively to the Easterlings and Variags [whom I think I should make appear, what do you think?])**


	12. Below the Lights

**(AN: I know everyone gave up on this story when I didn't update it often, but I will continue because when I get on this site and see the _Lord of the Rings_ fan-fics fitting into two categories - Mary Sue in Middle Earth and slash fics [mostly male on male] - and then see Legolas/Hobbit infatuation on tumblr, I get angry and know in my heart that I can do better. _Last Alliance_ was my first attempt, and I shall continue this, in honor of the majestic work that JRR Tolkien gave us!)  
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><p><strong>Below the Lights<br>**

It was morning and, by the council of Curunir, the caravan of the Blacklocks was making ready to move out. Fires were being put out, wains and chariots were being readied for the return march, aurochs given the last bit of feed and Dwarves packing their tents and goods. At the rear of the company, Austri and the Wizards looked out upon the Red Mountains. It was still dark, for the sun was hidden in the reek of clouds that glowered over the mountains of the East.

"Are you certain we can reclaim our homeland?" Austri asked.

"You're with us," Curunir replied. "There is no cause for worry."

"But I do worry," Austri stated. "And with good cause, for these are the last of my people. If there are indeed Dwarves in the _Gazaz Bhanad__, _my people might yet have a hope for our future."

"You're the last of your people?" Romenasto asked.

"Aye, weren't you listening?" grumbled Austri. "The wars with the Stonefoots and the Ironfists have taken their toll on our people. We...mate very slowly, and our women do not take another groom if their husbands fall in battle. Either we find our hopes, as faint and hopeless as they might be, in the West, or fall here in the east."

"Then I would council you," Romenasto said. "If Curunir would permit me, not to send all of your people with us on this expedition, if any. Send us but one guide who knows your lands well."

"Then I must go," Austri said. "For no Dwarf knows the southern reaches of the Orocarni better than myself. But I seek to take back our ancient homeland, and that we must do and with more than simply one Dwarf and three old Men."

"If you indeed seek to go in force," Curunir interjected. "Then bring along an army, if you will, and if you can muster such strength from this band of vagabonds."

"This band of vagabonds, Tharkun, are the mightiest and bravest of my kin," Austri said proudly. "They have survived countless invasions of wyrms into our beloved city and live to tell the tale, and they are willing to cast all away in search of the continuation of their people. I would rather have them at my side than any army of Longbeards."

Thus it was decided that Austri would take with them a company of fifty Dwarf warriors, all of them skilled in the use of ax, sword and bow. For he deemed rightly that there would be battle ere they took back the Orocarni, and while a great host could not be mustered, Austri also argued that a smaller force of skilled fighting Dwarves would be more than enough to break the occupation. So it was that fifty-four Dwarves, with two battle-wains and two aurochs pulling wagons left the caravan. Austri made his son, Althjof his lieutenant, placing him in charge of the caravan and of their people, should he fail to return from the Red Mountains.

* * *

><p>It was mid-day when the company arrived at the foothills of the Red Mountains. The march had gone without hindrance, until they were up at the entrance of the great Dwarf realm of Orocarni. A gate, at least nine fathoms high and three fathoms across, loomed up at them, built into the side of the mountain. Upon its face were carved images of Dwarves with great beards, crowns upon their heads: four images were there, and they had rings in their hands and upon each ring was a jewel: a ruby, a diamond, a green beryl and an onyx.<p>

"These are the Dwarf-fathers of old," Austri said, gesturing to the images on the door. "As they are known in memory. Two thousand and more years ago at least have they existed as such."

"What are those jewels upon their hands?" Curunir asked.

"Those are the gifts they received in ancient times," Austri proudly said. "Sarkhuh-run the Black, the Ring of Forge, carried by the father of the Ironfists. If the legends are true, it made iron the servant of the wielder and he could command it to mold itself to his will and it would obey him. Luzdhrun the Green, the Ring of Wealth, made he who wore it the master of the mine: they struck every vein of _eziluk _and that which they fashioned lasted endlessly without ever tarnishing or growing weak. Duymrun the Red is the Ring of Blessing, which gave the wielder longevity and eternal health. Last is Iimulrun the White, the Ring of Gold, gave wealth of similar kind as Luzdhrun. Those two were coveted greatly by my people."

"You certainly do not seem very wealthy," Morinehtar stated.

"That's because we've been on the run," Austri retorted. "Our hoards have been plundered of late by the wyrms and the Ironfists." He spat. "Despicable creatures, murdered my father and took my kingdom."

"That's why we're here, after all, eh?" Romenasto queried. "To help each other. We will give you back your kingdom and you will help us discover the source of this darkness and why the wild things are leaving the east."

"I don't need anyone's help," Austri grumbled.

"You were certainly running as fast as your stout legs could carry you, master Dwarf," Curunir retorted haughtily.

"Your coming was all that I needed," Austri replied uneasily, the words of Curunir still hanging over his head. "Now I will take back my homeland and my birthright." He looked back at them with a look of amusement. "You can follow along in my path if you desire so."

The Dwarf strode towards the door, placed his hands upon them and said in a loud voice: "_Khuzsh!_" At this, the doors slowly began to swing back until they rested each on either side of the Dwarf, revealing a huge, cavernous entrance that led into the side of the mountain. He walked in and behind him came his fifty Dwarves, with Curunir and the Blue Wizards following on at the last. They held aloft their staves and light glowed from them, illuminating the path before them. At once, the light was reflected off the fiery glimmer of gold. Coins, goblets, swords, belts and dishes of all kinds were littered on the floor, about the halls, in cut-out vaults in the sides of the walls and on the stairs.

"It's still here!" one of the Dwarves said. "My lord, should we take it?"

"No," Austri replied. "We have enough in the caravan to make us richer than any of the Longbeards. Once we take back our homes, this will all be rightfully ours again and it will return to their vaults and hoards." He turned back to the Wizards. "Touch nothing! No matter what the Ironfists say, this gold belongs to the Blacklocks and it would be detrimental to our friendship if you stole any of it."

"Regardless of what they might say?" Curunir asked. "Do you mean they believe you have stolen it?"

"Ironfists hate everyone and everything," Austri began. "They've enslaved the Stonefoots and the Stiffbeards and remain at war with my people because we refuse to submit."

"Submit to what?" Romenasto asked.

"Their tyranny!" growled the Dwarf angrily. "They believe only Ironfists are worthy of gold, food, mead and life. They treat the rest of us like slaves or enemies and because they hate us, they take our gold, saying that slaves and maggots have no business with things which they have not the strength to use nor the wit to understand how to use it."

"Have you tried to speak with them peaceably?" Morinehtar suggested.

"No one speaks with the Ironfists," Austri grumbled. "But we've spoken too long. We have to reach the lower vaults, where our greatest treasures were kept. The wyrms have made their nests therein, and it is there we will gut their scaly throats and pull their hearts out of their cold corpses!"

"_Baruk Khazad!_" chanted the Dwarves. "_Baruk Austri!_"

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><p>The next several hours were spent in almost total darkness, the only light coming from the staves of the old men. Down, down, down they went, far beneath the surface. In Dwarven halls, apart from great roaring fires, there were also many shafts that filtered down light into these great halls: the lights were gone, for the shafts had been filled, though by whose hand was beyond the guess of Austri or the Wizards.<p>

Onward they continued, until it seemed that they had left light and the sun far behind them. However, it was only now getting on towards evening, and the sun was just starting to dip behind the far away jagged line that was the Hithaeglir, far in the West. Here, below the lights and beneath the earth, light was completely forgotten. But Austri of the Blacklocks was accustomed to living in the dark caverns of the world and the lack of sunlight and the still, stuffy air deterred him not. The Wizards, who had known no darkness greater than the night under stars, were quietly fearful of the shadows. Romenasto more so, but if Morinehtar or Curunir were similarly affected, they did not betray even a hint of any fear.

At last, however, they came to a place where Austri commanded a halt. The company rested, leaning upon staves and ax-hilts while Austri walked over to the Wizards and reported their location. They had come to the lowest part of their realm, at the Thirtieth Hall, seven hundred feet down from the Gate.

"Our goal lies another three hundred feet or more down below our feet," he said. "Here we can take rest and, if you so desire, you may see the Eastern Sea."

At this, the Wizards hushed and Romenasto and Morinehtar seemed amazed beyond belief. No one had seen the Eastern Sea, not since the fathers of the Children of Men had first woken upon its shores in the First Day of the First Age. Curunir held his place, while the Blue Wizards asked Austri if they could gaze upon it. The Dwarf grumbled in agreement and sent one of his scouts to lead them the rest of the way while they remained and waited for them.

From where they stood, the Dwarf scout led them down a hall that, though dark, the Wizards became aware narrowed off into a single passageway, with a wall on one side and a high roof. Narrow was that passage, such that only three abreast could traverse, but its height was massive, going up beyond the light of their staves into fathoms unguessed. It turned also, once to the left, and then again to the right, up three flights of stairs that wound right all the way around: at the top, the Wizards covered their faces with their hands, as the last light of the day was still brighter than the darkness into which they had passed. The Dwarf was unscathed by the light and told them to continue. They passed through the tunnel and entered the light once again.

Outside, they saw the passage led to a small cove of rock, sheltered by the heights of the Red Mountains, shrouded in the dark clouds of shadow. The rocks, however, were red and not gray, as they were in the West. But their eyes were not drawn to the rocks, or the snow-capped Red Mountains at their backs. Before them stretched endless a sea, vast beyond imagining, the waves singing their endless song as they crashed among the rocks. Silent they stood, listening to the cry of sea-birds and the song of the waves, of which no Elven voice would ever sing, whether in the lands of the East or in Valinor. Here, they knew, the Children of Illuvatar had first risen from their slumber, and here the followers, Men, had first risen and seen the sun rise for the first time on the top peaks of the Red Mountains.

But most importantly, though it was dark, they could see that the shadow had no power over this part of the world. The night was coming, but it would be a welcomed night, for they knew that, in the end, the shadow was only a passing thing. This sea, however, with its beauty and majesty, would remain. Romenaer they named it, the Eastern Sea in the Sindarin, for no Elven eyes would ever gaze upon it, nor would ship of the Men of the West ever set sail by the winds that endlessly moved its waves.

It was with heavy hearts that they turned their backs on the Eastern Sea and returned into the halls of the Orocarni.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I know I promised a big reveal, but I'm gonna leave that for the next chapter. However, if you didn't get it with the Gate of Orocarni, I don't know. Maybe I'm being too vague, so I guess that's a good thing. This ending scene, however, was inspired by Ted Nasmith's painting of the Blue Wizards traveling into the East. They're seeing the Eastern Sea, which no one else would ever see again. I felt it needed something, just a brief moment to appreciate the beauty of nature before we dive straight-way into...well, you'll see)<strong>


	13. The Shadow Takes Shape

**(AN: I had an idea. Apart from this and _Remember the Fallen_, I had a semi-funny idea of a fic about the Trolls' pocket book from _The Hobbit_. Should I go through that? There is a persistent and virulent lack of good LotR/Hobbit fics on here, so I've got plenty of incentive.)  
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**(Now here's the chapter of the big reveal I've been building up to, so hold on tight!)  
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* * *

><p><strong>The Shadow Takes Shape<strong>

Romenasto and Morinehtar returned into the Dwarf-city, seeming now dark and dreary in comparison to the beauty of the Eastern Sea. The Dwarves seemed more than impatient for the wait, but Austri kept them from getting too out of hand. Once they returned, Curunir berated them for being sentimental, which he deemed was unimportant towards their mission. They apologized, only out of deference: Curunir was the wisest and if he said what they had done was wrong, rest assured that was indeed wrong.

Austri led them down a passage that led to the left, into a corridor that went slowly downward. However, as they passed through, a sense of foreboding fell upon them. Whereas the seven hundred feet above them had been stuffy and cold, the dark passages they were now entering were sullen and chilling. They distrusted the shadows, which seemed to gather about them like groping hands and stare at them with unseen eyes. The air was still tense, like a shadow host was holding their breath, waiting for the moment in which they would have these foolish looters in the iron claws of their trap and spring upon them. They met no opposition, but that seemed to unnerve them more than if they had indeed been attacked. Even the Dwarves, stout-hearted and tough, looked at the shadows with mistrust and fear.

At last, however, the dark was broken by the reddish glare of fire. There was no heat, and the roar of fire did not echo off the hard stone walls: there was just a great reddish light as though there was fire. Some of the Dwarves in Austri's company raised their shields and walked fearfully onward. They turned right and entered the room where there was the light: only the light of torches in a great hoard of gold and jewels. For a moment, they breathed a sigh of relief and walked among the gold coins, the hoards of the Blacklocks.

The Blue Wizards and Curunir took up the rear-guards, but before they stepped into the mounds of gold, Romenasto thought he heard another sound and called for a halt. The Dwarves stopped, knee-deep in the treasure-trove, and listened. Fear crept over them like the fingers of a spider as they heard the tell-tale clink of gold coins and goblets being crawled upon by some great thing that went upon its belly.

"Stand your ground," Austri hissed to his companions. "If we run or shout, the beasts will hear us."

Silence fell, yet the sound of something massive crawling through the gold continued to sound in their ears, grating like a saw grinding upon bones, counting down the minutes left they had to live. The Wizards gripped their staves in their hands, keen eyes scanning the treasure room in which they were trapped. It was large enough to fit at least two hundred, and had three passages leading from it. The main passage, they guessed, was the one from which they had come, which led back up the stairs and into the Thirtieth Hall. One passage was on the far side of the chamber, north they guessed, and ran parallel with the north wall of the chamber. The other was cut in the middle of the eastern wall and went on downward. The sound of clinking was not coming from any one direction, and that made them fear the worst: that they were being surrounded.

Suddenly, the chamber was filled with light. One of the Dwarves shouted and they ran into the tunnel that ran along the northern wall. Austri and the others followed after him, then Curunir and the Blue Wizards took up the rear-guard, staves at the ready. This path trailed on for a long while into the darkness, but was so narrow that the Wizards could stretch out their arms and touch both walls with each hand. They continued running, until Morinehtar halted, his hand brushing against something rigid in the darkness.

"Wait!" he called out. "There's something here!"

Austri called for a halt, and he, along with Curunir and Romenasto, walked over to Morinehtar and examined the wall. Upon it were carved symbols and signs in a language they could not read. Austri looked disgusted at this.

"Have they no shame?" he asked. "Defacing fine stone-work!"

"What does it say?" Morinehtar asked. "The letters are Dwarvish runes, I think, or I know nothing about their language."

"And well you shouldn't," Austri said. "We do not teach others our language." He looked at it. "The words are in the tongue of the Gharki, maybe you two would know what they meant."

"Why?" Curunir asked.

"We've traveled among them before," Romenasto stated. "As we told you before." He then looked at the words and, in the dim light of torches and staff-light, his face blanched.

"What does it say?" Austri asked.

"Karahn'klem," he translated. "The White Plague."

There was another flash of light, blinding them so greatly that they were all disoriented. All their eyes could see was the flash, and suddenly they found strong hands being wrapped about them and ropes tied around their necks. They were once again shrouded in complete darkness, unable to see any kind of light. Their captors said nothing, but shoved them forward, ever and anon using the lash to keep them going.

When at last they halted, a weak, old voice commanded that their shrouds be removed. This done, the Wizards found themselves in a dimly lit room, surrounded by figures in dark cloaks. A bent old figure stood before them, and all around them, they could hear deep, guttural growling and the slithering sound of great coils, like giant serpents making their way through hoards of gold coins. The air was cold and dead, a smell of sickness thick, almost choking them as they tried not to breathe it in.

"Gharki!" growled Austri. "You have no place here!"

"On the contrary, old fool," the bent figure rasped.

"Release us!" Curunir demanded. "Or you shall know the wrath of the Istari!"

"Silence, old fool!" the voice growled. "The Master has no business with you."

"Who is this master of yours?" Curunir asked. "Or is he a coward, that he will not show his face before his guests?"

"You are prisoners here," the voice said. "Now, dwarf, give back what the Master demands."

"Never!" Austri shouted. "It's mine, I tell you, it came to me!"

"Is that the story you told your father as he lay dying in your arms?"

"What does he mean?" Romenasto asked.

"Lies, all lies!" Austri demanded. "My father _gave_ me Iimulrun! It was bestowed to each son of my family for generations!"

"If we are to speak of lies, what shall we say of you, Austri Alfar's son, _kinslayer_?"

"Don't listen to him! He lies, every word! Iimulrun is mine! It came to _me!_"

"We trust you," Romenasto said.

The old figure laughed, and as it did, it cackled and coughed. One of the hooded figures stepped forward to assist him, but the old creature shouted an incantation, and the figure fell to the ground, leaving nothing but a pile of black robes lying in the dim light. The figure then turned to the Wizards and removed his hood. There was a dark-skinned face, bald and pale, wracked with blisters, sores and leprous flakes of dying skin. Blood and pus had long since dried and crusted over at the corners of its mouth, nose and eyes, and the bones seemed to be pressing against the skin, trying to push their way out as it spoke.

"Trust you have given too easily and naively, _adar_," the old man said.

"Moren'tai!" gasped Romenasto. "But that was..."

"Five hundred years ago?" the old man asked, hacking up fresh blood that drooled out of his mouth. "The dark secrets you imparted to me have allowed me to live beyond my years, and Gor'khan has blessed me with this..." He coughed again. "Gift."

"The plague," gasped Morinehtar. "You were a fool then, Amandil, and you are a fool now. This plague is not a gift, your god is killing you."

"I am honored to die for Gor'khan," Moren'tai rasped. "But you, for whom shall you die this day? Your precious Valar look not upon the East, they will not see your bones as they lie bleaching beneath the sun, your spirits forever tortured in Gor'khan's power."

"Why?" Romenasto asked. "Why attack the Blacklocks? This is _our_ fight, you need not include them."

"Oh, but I must," Moren'tai continued. "Gor'khan demands it. While I have lived long and...given my body, in service of Gor'khan, He demands that we select a different subject before the Plague be sent upon its rightful victims: the White devils of the West!"

"I take it you found my people ill-disposed to your tricks, leper," Austri retorted proudly.

"Your people sold themselves out just to be save from the wyrms," Moren'tai sneered. "The Ironfists and the Stonefoots proudly threw their offerings at Gor'khan's feet." He laughed. "He killed them just the same, even as he did to the Stiffbeards. Now he demands your stolen trinket be returned."

"What does he mean 'stolen?'" Curunir asked.

"He's lying!" shouted Austri, fuming beneath his beard. "The ring is _mine_, I tell you! It was a gift from my father! It came to me!"

"Is that what you tell yourself, old Dwarf?" mocked Moren'tai. "To hide the truth, eh? But the Eye of Gor'khan sees all, he sees into your heart, Dwarf. He knows what you did. Ever you coveted the powers of the Ring of Gold, but your father would not surrender it, not for any gold or _mithril_ you could ever offer. So you came to him, in his sleep, in the dark of night and ended his life. Killed him you did, your own father!"

"Is this so?" Morinehtar asked.

The Dwarf's head nodded.

"Your trust is misguided, blue fool," Moren'tai said. "The only power worth siding with is Gor'khan: his hand it is that shall lead our people into the West and cover this world in blessed darkness!"

"I tire of your honeyed words!" Curunir shouted. "Let Gor'khan show himself, or is your god a coward as well as a tyrant?"

"Insult not the god of the East, old man!" Moren'tai shouted feebly. "He has power, _real_ power! Not like your paper Valar and your fantastical Illuvatar! He is the lord and god of this world, he is the one true master of the East!"

A smile crept on Curunir's face. "Did your all-knowing god tell you that he lives only at the mercy of our 'paper' Valar and 'fantastical' Illuvatar?"

"Blasphemy!" Moren'tai cried, covering his bald head with his hood and placing his claw-like fingers over them, expecting some punishment from on high. The faceless, hooded figures quailed as well, and the sound of clinking coins ceased. All seemed silent for a long space as they seemed to expect the same response.

The sound of heavy iron boots clanking through the gold coins now sounded, shaking the walls and the floor with each footstep. Moren'tai and the black hoods cowered away, bowing and scraping as they faded into the shadows, muttering and chanting. In the dim light of the torches, burning in their niches upon the walls, Curunir, Austri and the Blue Wizards saw a tall, man-like figure, clad all in black armor and black was its cloak. There was a face, charred and blackened as though by fire, cracked and dried like barren earth. But it was the eyes that drew them: yellow like cat's eyes yet wreathed in fire. Curunir cast his eyes down to the right hand, noticing that it only had four fingers. As it appeared, they were encumbered in a great heat that radiated from the dark figure.

"Bow before Gor'khan," the deep voice of the Dark Lord said. "Dark Lord of the East and soon to be Lord of Arda!"

"Sauron..." Curunir spoke, but once the words came out of his mouth, the four-fingered hand reached out and Curunir collapsed, a cry of pain escaping his lips.

"Speak not the name of blasphemy in my presence!" the Dark Lord commanded.

"It was as we have feared," Romenasto whispered to his brother, then turned to the Dark Lord. "How long have you held sway over the people of the East?"

"Since the imprisonment of my master," the Dark Lord began. "I came to the dark, among the feeble nations of Men, and turned them to my will. Ever have Men been prone to folly, and they worshiped me as their rightful god! I commanded great armies, from the Ered Nimrais to the Orocarni."

"And your servants fled in terror before the fleet of Numenor," Curunir countered. The Black Hand reached down and the White Wizard was thrown to the floor once again.

"My vengeance upon the Dunedain is nigh," the Dark Lord said. "The Karahn'klem was created specifically to be released upon the lands of Men. While the Eldar survive, the Dunedain will fall. My mightiest servant, the Lord of the Nazgul, has brought Arnor to its knees, while Gondor fights endlessly against itself. The Karahn'klem will destroy them all, and my return shall at last come. The Lords of the Eldar shall be powerless before my might."

"You lack one thing," Curunir announced. "Or have you forgotten the words of the wise?

_Three Rings for the Elven Kings under the sky  
>Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone<br>Nine for mortal Men doomed to die  
>One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne<br>In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie  
>One Ring to rule them all<br>One Ring to find them  
>One Ring to bring them all<br>And in the darkness, bind them  
>In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie<em>

The Blue Wizards looked at Curunir as he spoke, and he seemed to at last master himself against the might of the Dark Lord, rising up to his feet, albeit leaning heavily on his staff. Yet they saw a queer look in his eye as he stared down the Dark Lord, the deep, dark eyes of Curumo against the fiery eyes of Sauron the Great.

"Why all this secrecy?" Curunir queried. "Why hide in the shadow of the east if you have that which would destroy our last defenses, break our last strengths and make your victory complete? You have not the power to destroy the lords of the West utterly."

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and all the black-robed figures fell back, including those who had bound the Blue Wizards and the Dwarves. Curunir turned to them and ordered them to flee.

"None of you could ever face the Dark Lord in battle," he shouted. "I shall hold him back while you make your escape!"

"Nay, Curunir!" Morinehtar said, taking his side. "You shall not stand alone!"

"Fly, fool!" Curunir ordered.

"No, my friend," the Blue Wizard shook his head. "You must go, warn the West of the coming of the Dark Lord. They must be ready for his return..." He turned to the darkness and held out his staff. An invisible barrier seemed to grow between them and their pursuers. The black hoods broke themselves upon it, falling backward in defeat. But the Dark Lord strode forward, in his hand a mighty hammer, which he named Grond after that which his master wielded in the Elder Days: as he strode towards the Wizards, Morinehtar seemed to shake, as though met by a will greater than his own.

"Run, Curunir!" Morinehtar shouted.

Curunir looked at the approach of the Dark Lord, then at Morinehtar, whose face was red with the strain. He was given an order, yet Curunir was proud and would not endure such orders. Nevertheless, prudence demanded that he fly now and live to fight another day. With his staff in hand, leveled in the direction of the Dark Lord, Curunir took a step back, down the hall into which the others had fled.

"_Namarie, Curumo,_" said Morinehtar.

"_Namarie, Alatar, mellon-nin_," the White Wizard replied, then his back was turned as he ran down the hallway. He turned again and gestured with his staff at the roof. It caved in, cutting off the pursuers from Romenasto and the Dwarves.

It was the last time Morinehtar would ever be seen by Curunir or Romenasto.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Yes, that was my big reveal! Gor'khan is Sauron! I dropped plenty of hints along the way, especially about the rings, so I wonder if anyone else figured it out before this chapter.)<strong>

**(While already Mirkwood had been corrupted, possibly by the Nazgul [as shown in the strategy game _War of the Ring_, a very good game, if I might say so], it can be suggested that this event, leading to the possibility of discovery, caused Sauron to leave the East proper and stay at Dol Guldur. However, there is another reason for the Blue Wizards to be here, which shall be seen in the next chapter [that clinking sound of coils upon coins is key, though we haven't seen anything just yet].)  
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**(What happened to Morinehtar, I cannot say. He was pitted against a foe of equal [or greater] strength as the Balrog to Gandalf, but the outcome is hard to say. Obviously, the Dark Lord does survive the encounter [but, as this is book-verse, so to speak, he does not lose his body or become a disembodied eye. Spotlight of Mordor just doesn't fit right with me: I get this awful fear that when he spots Frodo and the Ring, he spins about the spires of Barad-dur, wailing as though he were the Air-Raid Siren of Mordor, calling the Nazgul to "scramble"]. Whether he died in the deep chambers of the Dwarf-kingdom, or whether he somehow survived and went on to spread his influence later in life [mir-luin?], I cannot say.)  
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	14. Dragon's Breath

**(AN: While I usually hate black metal bands that rip off characters and names from _Lord of the Rings_ [specifically an over-rated one-man act named after the Black Speech word for "darkness"], I used some references to black metal bands in the names of chapters. "Below the Lights" was the name of an _Enslaved_ album, and this chapter is the name of a _Bathory_ song, and I think you can guess what's going to happen.)  
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**(Yay for reviews! As far as what happened, the worshiping of Gor'khan had nothing to do with the Blue Wizards, as [if you read the last chapter] that kind of worshiping had been going on long before the Wizards came from the West. It was the sorcerer-cults that were established [indirectly] by them.)  
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* * *

><p><strong>Dragon's Breath<strong>

The Dwarves and Romenasto were running up the flight of stairs, back to the treasure room from whence they had first fled. Down the halls they went, not knowing which way they had come. Their faces had been covered by shrouds and they guessed not the distance or how far they had come thus blind-folded. The old man felt with his hands along the walls, always choosing walls that were cool rather than hot. Heat meant the Dark Lord and cold most likely meant the cold stone of the upper halls.

At last, however, the old man laughed, despite the danger. His hand came upon the carved words _Karahn'klem_, the name of the White Plague that had been carved on the wall that he had seen earlier. From behind, he heard a sound of shuffling and gasping and turned his staff towards the entrance, only to see Curunir hobbling towards them, panting and out of breath.

"I am not Sauron," the White Wizard said. "Or have you forgotten that the Dark Lord was a changeling during his time as chattel to Morgoth the Great? Nevertheless, Pallando, I am Curunir the White."

"What happened?" Romenasto asked. "The last I saw, you were holding us back from Sauron's approach. Where is Morinehtar?"

The White Wizard hung his head. "I am truly sorry, but Alatar has fallen. He elected to stay behind, to give us a chance to escape from the Dark Lord. Alas, he was pitted against a foe beyond his reckoning."

"Woe to our quest," Romenasto bewailed. "What shall become of it? For I am the weakest of the two, and without Morinehtar's guidance, I shall surely make the same mistake I did with Moren'tai."

"We can mourn his loss later," Austri interrupted. "I fear our pursuers will find another way to reach us. There are more than one passage from the lower vaults to the Thirtieth Hall. Make haste!"

Romenasto and Curunir made their way after the Dwarf, down the straight way and into the treasure room flooded with light. Carefully they picked their way through the piles of gold and came to the tunnel that wound up to the Thirtieth Hall. At last, however, their feet rested on the familiar stone of the hall and they breathed a sigh of relief.

But too late! Austri, who brought up the rear guard, was suddenly thrown off his feet and fell to the ground. Curunir and Romenasto turned about, staves in hand, ready to use their power if need be. Standing before them, however, was one figure in black and two other figures besides him.

"Go back!" Romenasto shouted, strange bravery rising up in his heart. "Your master knows his enemies await him, and we shall return! Go back and trouble us no more!"

From out of the gloom, there only came the laughter of Moren'tai. Then, to their fear, they heard the sound of coils slinking their way across gold coins. Austri, who had now risen to his feet, mumbled orders to the Dwarves, who readied their weapons and made a circle about the center of the hall. Suddenly, there was a loud roar, which shook the ground under which they sat. Before their eyes they saw two giant creatures, wyrm-like, crawl out of the tunnel from which they had just come and tear Moren'tai to pieces.

"Dragon!" shouted Austri as he ran back to the cover of his people.

For indeed dragons were these, great wyrms, the bastards of Glaurung the Deceiver and Father of the Dragons. Upon their bellies did they crawl, but their breath was fire, rivaling that of their master or of the firstborn of his brood, Ancalagon the Black. Great were these wyrms, and stories whispered by firesides even in the West spoke of their terror. Some stories even said that the evil of Morgoth had captured babies from out of their cribs and forced them to suckle the whelps of these great wyrms, thus breeding the fel were-wyrms. Whether any of the abominations still existed in some corner of the world, hiding in the sands of the last desert, was unknown. Yet these beasts were real enough, and it was their fire that had driven many of the Dwarves from their ancient lands.

The two wyrms slithered towards the company, spouting flames from their mouths as they crawled towards them. But Curunir and Romenasto stood amidst the Dwarves and, staves aloft, created a sheen of white light between the Dwarves and the dragons, against which the fire would not harm them. Nine times they encircled them, nine times they breathed their deadly flames and nine times they tried to bite at the Dwarves, only to find their jaws meeting nothingness that halted their malicious intent mere inches away from their prey.

"This is pointless!" Curunir shouted. "We must go now or else be trapped until our strength wains."

Romenasto thrust his staff outward, sending one of the wyrms flying against the wall. Curunir did likewise, then ordered the Dwarves to fly. Off they went, with Austri and the Wizards taking the rear-guard. On and on they went up the stairs, winding this way and that. Behind them, Curunir heard the roar of the dragons behind them. He turned about and thrust his staff down at them: a fire-ball struck one of them, sending it flying down to the bottom of the stairs, while the other roared and continued after them.

"This one is mine!" Austri shouted. He turned and stood at the side of the Wizards as the wyrm crawled up the steps and reared up at the sight of the Wizard.

"_Khazad Ai-menu!_" was the battle-cry of Austri the Dwarf, Alfar's son, as he unsheathed his sword and drove it up into the belly of the beast. With a roar the dragon flailed and came crashing down upon the Dwarf. For a moment, the Wizards though the brave but foolish Dwarf was dead, but then the sound of struggling came from underneath the body of the dragon. A blood-stained Austri had cut his way through the body of the fallen dragon and now was back on his feet, drenched from head to toe in black dragon's blood.

"Come! We must away!" Romenasto said.

On they went, up the many stairs of the great Dwarf-city. Seven hundred feet it was from the Thirtieth Hall to the Gate into which they had passed. For a while, there was no sound of pursuit, and those at the rear-guard were allowed a few moments of peace.

"Dragons," Curunir said. "It seems Sauron is growing desperate for aid. While dragons were ever the servants of Morgoth, his servant now seeks to make them _his_ slaves. A sad day for the West it would be when dragons are sent upon the lands of the free."

"Aye," Romenasto nodded. In his heart, he feared seeing the woods of Lorien and Rivendell being reduced to burning cinders at the fury of the breath of the dragons.

"We have faced two here," Curunir said. "But rest assured, there will be more of them."

"Then I must keep my promise to help the Dwarves," Romenasto replied. "These dragons must be slain ere they trouble the West."

"Good, then you do so without my help," Curunir retorted. "I must return, the West must know that doom is coming upon them."

"But what about our quest?" the Blue Wizard asked.

"I will not be held prisoner here, a victim of your incompetence!" Curunir stated. "Alatar was my friend, but you, in your weakness, violated our mandate! I leave you to rectify your error by your own hands."

He continued up with the others, leaving Austri and Romenasto to speak among themselves for a while.

"Why did you lie to us?" Romenasto asked. "About your ring."

"What business is it of your what I do with my own things?" retorted Austri suspiciously.

"I don't mean to take it," Romenasto shook his blue-gray beard. "But you should have been honest from the beginning."

"Why does it matter if my father had it first?" asked Austri. "It's not his anymore, it's mine!"

"And so it is," Romenasto nodded. "But you should have been honest with us. We trusted you, is that not enough?"

The Dwarf grumbled. "My people take friendship very seriously, and..." He sighed. "While I fear that we may not receive our homeland yet, I shall ever remember the sacrifice of your fellow Tharkun, the one you call Morinehtar. We will sing songs of his bravery as long as the Blacklocks remember his name. Long may your beard grow, Tharkun."

"I suppose that's as good as a complement," Romenasto said. "So thank you. Now come, we must hurry. We are not out of danger yet."

Suddenly there was a hiss and the Wizard and the Dwarf turned about. At the bottom of the stairs, the second wyrm had devoured part of its fallen comrade and was now slithering up the stairs towards them. While they had spoken, it had made its way up behind them, so quietly that it was unnerving. Now it was upon them, and its fire engulfed them. But Romenasto was a Wizard, and in that moment, a shield of blue-white light engulfed him, protecting him from the dragon's breath.

For one moment, the dragon seemed to recoil, gazing with surprise on the old man. In that moment, Romenasto looked upon Austri, only to see that he had failed once again. His shield had not protected the Dwarf. His clothes had caught fire and his skin was black and burned. His right hand, meanwhile, was sizzling and burning with an ugly, acrid smell of cooking flesh. The Dwarf groaned in pain, his hand shaking.

"Come, my friend," Romenasto said, offering the Dwarf his hand. But Austri swatted it away with his good hand, which reached instead for his sword.

"Tell my son about me," groaned Austri. "Tell him of Austri Alfar's son, who slew the wyrms in Orocarni." He then turned towards the dragon, and with one last shout of "_Khazad Ai-menu!_", charged at the dragon, sword in hand. For a moment, it seemed that he had given the beast a fatal wound, but too late, for he was engulfed in flame. So passed Austri the Dwarf, son of Alfar, slaying the dragon.

Romenasto sighed, and made his way back to the Dwarves, where he would lead them back out of the Orocarni and to the caravan of the Blacklocks in defeat. The quest to retake the Red Mountains had been valiant but failed with the revelation of the return of the Dark Lord. Now, however, Romenasto knew what he had to do. There was unmistakable evidence that Sauron had returned and was biding his time to invade once again. He was the last of the Blue Wizards, Pallando, and on his shoulders lay the burden of their mandate: subvert the Dark Lord in the land over which his shadow held greatest sway. A monumental task that seemed to both he and Alatar, far away in the lands of the West. Now, alone, it seemed impossible.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: So passes Austri, and one of the Dwarven Rings of Power. I hope you could get that with all those "I found it, it came to me!" things that he was saying, as well as that story about it being passed down from his father [like how Smeagol said the 'Precious' was a birthday gift from his grandmother]. However, as it is said, when Dwarves make friends, they are friends for life, and so it has been with Romenasto and the Blacklocks. Though they failed to retake their mountain home, the sacrifice of Morinehtar will be remembered [I say sacrifice, but we don't really know if he's dead or not. Then again, the Fellowship thought Gandalf was dead after fighting the Balrog and our characters know just about as little as I do about his fate, so they think he's dead].)<strong>

**(I will continue, but I have almost fourteen hundred more years to go, so killing off characters is something that's going to happen quite frequently, which is why I didn't want to have too many secondary characters [just build them up to knock them down]. One character is going to survive to the end, but that's for later. Remember to review!)  
><strong>


	15. Variags

**(AN: East and south, Tolkien said, and while I might not spend too much time in Haradwaith, I thought I should mention these foul folk. They already made an appearance in _Another Journey_, my _Ozian Adventures_ Wicked/LotR story, but they're gonna be a bit different. For one, they won't have names so obviously ripped off from black metal bands [that was a poor choice on my part], however, they are based on the negative aspects of Nordic people.)  
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**(As far as literary, I try to shy away from being the omniscient author who shows everything because he knows everything that's happening, I try to leave some kind of mystery to be revealed in the text over time. However, what baffles me is that Tolkien was able to switch from telling the immediate story to being the omniscient author almost instantly without spoiling the plot of his story. _That_ is something to shoot for!)  
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* * *

><p><strong>Variags<strong>

_T.A. 1850_

The Blacklocks had given Austri a hero's memorial, and cherished Morinehtar as a hero in their songs. Romenasto, however, was a different story. Of the four and fifty which went into Orocarni, only forty-nine had returned. Austri was dead, Morinehtar was missing, and three Dwarves had been either slain by dragons or gutted by Moren'tai's cultists. The Blacklocks called Romenasto a bringer of woe, but spared his life as it was he who brought Morinehtar to them. Through his speech-craft, Curunir has escaped any kind of reprisals or even defamation from the Dwarves and was allowed to leave in peace. Romenasto, however, was told to leave the Blacklocks ere he bring more calamity upon them.

Thus they parted, and two hundred years passed. During such time, Romenasto worked ceaselessly to keep the wyrms at bay, and this met with some success. Wyrm-nests he pillaged and set on fire, until he became whispered among the Northern Wastes as Dragonsbane. But he was only one, and he soon learned a horrible truth. While he had been killing dragons, thinning the ranks of the Dark Lord, the Karahn'klem had been dispersed among the West. Millions in Gondor, Rhovanion and Rhun died. During this time, Romenasto walked among the people of Rhun in secret, giving what healing he could. While they accepted his aid, they did not trust him: their god, Gor'khan, and his emperor, were still their masters.

So it was that, after at least a century among the Easterlings, Romenasto made his way by foot slowly southwards, towards the Hildo'ren River. There were still many other places to visit, and his task was not yet done. In his journeys, he heard of a strange and enigmatic people, the Variags of Khand. Exactly who they were none could say, for they kept to themselves and were rarely seen in any part of the East or West other than Khand. However, there were legends of a scion of the fell folk of Carn Dum, who had migrated south to Mordor to serve the Dark Lord during the Dark Years. They had fled from the wrath of Ar-Pharazon the Golden, and had not been seen in the West since then.

Romenasto would be the first from the West to see them in almost two thousand years.

The land of Khand was nestled in the shadow of the Ephel Duath, the mountains that provided the western and southern border of Mordor. While it was adjacent to the barren lands of Haradwaith, land of the tribes of the Haradrim, Khand was strangely fertile. Ash from Orodruin flew south-east and came to rest in Nurn, making it very fertile. But the lands of Upper Khand were also quite green and fertile, while Lower Khand was mostly dry grasslands as far as the eye could see. Horses also there were, like the ones of the Easterlings, short and stocky and able to carry heavy loads.

The old man was on a hill, among tall grasses, when he first saw their people. He was walking through the tall grasses when he came upon a burial mound. It was unlike the mounds of Tyrn Gorthad, which he and Morinehtar had passed on their way from Mithlond to Imladris. Instead of a grassy barrow into which the bodies would be lain, it was a pile of skulls. Romenasto knelt down and picked up one of the skulls, but it soon fell from his hand in horror. The skull was small and underdeveloped, the skull of an infant. Though he had seen human sacrifices among the Empire of Rhun, never had he seen piles of baby skulls the height of a fully grown Dunadan.

It was at that time that the old man halted, for he heard the sound of feet walking towards the place where he stood. Quickly he scurried away through the grasses to the top of a nearby hill, where he could see what was going on below. From where he hid, he saw a young woman of about twenty years or more, carrying another skull to the pile. The Wizard noted how she looked: shorter than Dunedain women, with pale skin and hair so dark that it seemed to stand out among the browning grasses. She wore a plain dress with no sleeves, and on her arms were scars and tattoos, all of them hideous to behold, as though an orc had made them.

This was the first time Romenasto had seen a Variag. He was surprised at how calm she was with adding another infant skull to the pile. As she made her way away from the pile, the Wizard followed on after her. She led him to a village made of wooden structures covered with hides. As the old man looked about, he saw that all of them had dark hair, darker than that of the Men of Gondor. He also noticed that, like the men of Rhun, there were no elders among these people. All of them seemed to be about the same age and, upon closer inspection, their faces were thin, gaunt and their eyes seemed to be engorged.

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><p>There were, however, some positive affects to being among these people, as opposed to the Easterlings. For one, they spoke the Common Tongue, and while they looked suspiciously at the tall old man, they were more receptive of him than the Easterlings had been. Nevertheless, it was difficult. There were no sages or old men in their midst and none of them walked on staves, so the Variags often made remarks about Romenasto, saying that he enjoyed the company of little boys.<p>

While he was on his way, ignoring the words they said, he found himself at a well, where a group of women were washing clothes. He rested by the side of the well and pulled up for himself a bucket of water, from which he drank using his hand. At this, he heard a woman's voice laugh. Turning about, he saw the woman he had seen deliver the baby's skull into the pile.

"You are indeed a stranger to this land, _sharku_," she said to Romenasto.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"You drink water like an animal," she mocked. "No one in Khand drinks water, only those apes of Harad."

"What do you drink to slake your thirst?" he asked.

"Blood," she replied. "Blood is the power of that from which it came from, blood is it we mothers feed our babies to make them strong." She laughed. "Where _are_ you from, _sharku_?"

"I come from lands far away," Romenasto said. "But why do you call me 'sharku?'"

"It means 'old man,'" she replied. "You are the oldest man we have seen in a long time, a proper man, not those babbling, oliphaunt-riding apes of the South. Your skin is the right color, but you're far too old. How do you live so long?"

"You mean no one lives long in your village?"

"No one in all of Khand lives beyond two score of years," she said. She looked over at the men, from whom Romenasto had been fleeing. "Still, if you plan on staying in our village for long, you'll have to face them."

"Why are they hostile towards me?" he asked, at this, the young woman laughed again.

"You are indeed a stranger," she mocked. "If they wanted to be hostile, you would be dead. They only comment that you like young men, and it certainly seems so."

"What do you mean?"

"No man in Khand walks with a staff who is not _ergi_," she laughed.

"This staff is more than a prop, I'll have you know."

"A proper weapon is an ax, or a cudgel," she boasted. "Nevertheless, if you choose to stay here, you should speak to the captain of the village."

"Where is he?"

"Away," she began. "But he will return at night for the _sharblot_. You can stay until then and speak with him about staying."

Romenasto nodded, then went on his way. But as he was going, he heard someone shouting and crying out. Turning about as though he would help, he saw a man dragging a woman out of one of the huts by her hair. Once she was outside, he began beating her face with his spiked club. When at last, her body stopped moving, he knelt down and began devouring her like a wild beast. Several others, including a man from the woman's house, joined in and began tearing her apart.

"I must do something!" Romenasto exclaimed as he made his way towards the commotion.

"Oh, that?" she asked. "It's nothing. She spat at him yesterday, and he's been threatening to kill her ever since. She couldn't defend herself, she deserved to die: now we will eat her flesh and drink her blood and absorb what strength there is left in her."

"But he attacked her!" Romenasto retorted. "Shouldn't the guards do something?"

"Guards?" she mocked. "There are no guards here, no law. There is only strength."

"But he committed murder!"

"What's murder?" she laughed. "Such a funny word."

"It means to unjustly take a life!"

"That means nothing to me," she replied. "In this land, we do what we want, we eat who we will and kill anything we wish."

For a moment, Romenasto was sickened by her response. Here were children of Men behaving themselves like orcs. This was more like the workings of the Moredain, the Black Numenoreans, who had worshiped Sauron during the time of Ar-Pharazon. He longed to leave this dreadful place, since he felt that there was nothing he could do. Upon close examination, he saw the symbol of the red eye upon their tents, even tattooed into their flesh. However, though he seemed to be deep in enemy territory - as he had always been since he and Morinehtar had passed beyond the farthest lands of the West - he felt that this was the place he needed to be.

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><p><strong>(AN: Lots of stuff in this chapter, and I felt that I got the idea [or at least some of it] of the Variags across without being too iffy. Pretty much like what Romenasto said, they are humans who worship orcs. They have no law and order, worship Sauron, and, of course, they are cannibals who kill "weak" infants, like the Spartans. And yes, they are very racist. I am not and neither was Tolkien, that is <em>them<em>, not me!)**

**(One more chapter in Khand and we'll soon have another important part of the story to get to [hint, we're going back into the East!])  
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	16. March of the Wainriders

**(AN: A certain part of the story is coming up soon, and I thought I would condense two chapters into one for your enjoyment!)  
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**(I've often wondered if, subconsciously, I gave the Wizards any kind of personality. Hmm. Well, from first glance, I would say that Morinehtar is the more powerful one, since he is Curunir's friends and Curunir wouldn't take any old riff-raff as his friend. He's also shrewd and very thoughtful. Romenasto is more of the hands on Wizard. He likes to help people and he is very trusting [as we saw, to his detriment].)  
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><p><strong>March of the Wainriders<strong>

It was with a wary eye that Romenasto remained in the village of the Variags, called Skjoll. The young woman, whose name he learned was Skjef, had been wed last year. That child whose skull he had seen deposited in the pile was her firstborn son, who had not even been given a name. Romenasto was able to carefully pry out of her a little of the customs of the Variags of Khand. Strength and power were revered over all things, and it was thus that they came to fear the Enemy as a god, in similar fashion as the Easterlings. From birth, their children were made to be strong and lacked weakness or tenderness of any kind. If they were born weak or small, they were strangled by the mother, their bodies eaten during the night _blot_ and their skulls thrown outside of the village. Strong ones were fed blood, rather than milk, from their mother's breasts and raised cannibals like their parents.

Whether by reason of this or their lack of Dunedain blood, the Variags lived short, brutal lives which usually ended with them being killed and eaten by their fellows. While listening to Skjef proudly speak of the atrocities of her people, Romenasto became more and more aware of the dangerous situation in which he had fallen. They worshiped the Nameless Enemy and carved his image into their flesh, into the flesh of their horses, and painted their huts with the symbol of the Lidless Eye, or dyed their hair black with the blood of their enemies in homage to the Black Land. They were, in brief, as close as Men could possibly come to becoming as filthy and degraded as orcs.

So it was no surprise that, in the evening, during the _sharblot_, Romenasto stood at the back of the crowds which had gathered around a great bonfire in the middle of the village. From here, however, he could see all that was transpiring during this sacrifice of theirs. It was an orgy of cannibalism: whoever could not defend themselves was eaten by a horde of crazed Variags, who danced about the fire, chanting songs to the Nameless and painting their faces with war-paint in colors white and black. Those who were not part of this chain-dance of madness endured painful rituals of passage: men were tattooed and scarred with the sign of the Lidless Eye and women had one breast cut off and their backs beaten with whips to remove any tenderness from them.

About midnight, after death and debauchery had gone on ceaselessly for hours, the sound of chanting and of drums was silenced. Romenasto paid close attention as a young man, who was evidently the captain of the village, appeared before his people. His hair was long and dyed black and on his back were two weapons: a spiked cudgel and an ax with a wolf's head engraved with cunning art onto the blade. His face was painted white and black and when he spoke, he groaned and rasped with a guttural, gravely howl that echoed ominously into the stillness of the night.

"Mighty ones!" he growled. "Our time has come! The rumors you have heard from the northeast are true. The backward imps of the East are preparing to attack the sheep of Gondor! We shall not be left behind! Let us now go forth in the name of the Nameless One and slay the white sheep and bathe in their blood!"

Cheers were heard, but Romenasto held his peace for a moment. He moved quietly through the crowds, making his way through to the front, where he could speak with the captain.

"Shall we let the imps fight a great war against our mortal enemy?" the captain growled. "Shall we let these weaklings do what is well within our power to accomplish?"

More cheers sounded, and then some began chanting, and soon all were chanting and shouting and jeering. Romenasto was now at the front of the _blot_, near the fire.

"Halt!" he rose his hands, one on his staff. The maddened people laughed at him upon seeing the staff in his hand. "Why must you go to war with the West?"

They all laughed him to scorn. "Why not?" shouted the captain. "The sheep of Gondor have forfeited their right to live! No one deserves to live as long as they have, it's unnatural! They are weak, cowardly, bending their ears to the council of _elves!_" He spat and some of the others shouted curses of the Nameless upon them. "Besides, what need have the masters of excuses to kill the sheep?"

"Wait!" Romenasto held up his hands.

"All you council is waiting and halting!" the captain retorted. "One would think you're in league with the sheep! Kill him!"

Romenasto felt iron-strong hands seize him from behind and bring him dangerously close to the bonfire. Behind him walked Skjef, a knife in her hand, and she placed it at his throat.

"Would you indeed rush into war when there is greatness on the horizon?" Romenasto asked.

"Lies!" the captain shouted. "Greatness comes through war!"

"There's another way!" the Wizard interjected. "What if you opened trade with the East? Hmm? There must be something you have that they would need."

The captain seemed to ponder his options within his small mind for a brief moment before his eyes suddenly bulged.

"This land is horse-country," he said. "It is said the imps are sending horse-drawn wains for their battle engines."

"Sell them your horses," Romenasto began. "Many leagues lie between Khand and the land of the East. Much gold you could amass from the East for the trade of the horses, they would continue buying them for the sake of keeping themselves well equipped. You would become more powerful than them, for you would hold monopoly on the trade of horses."

"Enough!" a big Variag with a stupid expression on his face growled. "Let's cut out his tongue and eat it, maybe we'll see the meaning behind his big words!"

The captain approached this one and seemed to embrace him, as though in friendship. However, it was but a ruse. Romenasto saw a dagger removed from the captain's belt, which he stabbed into the bigger one's back over and over until he collapsed onto the ground. The captain raised his hands up to the sky, growling something about the Nameless' blessing on this kill, then the others devoured the dumb brute's corpse. Romenasto looked on in surprise, for he knew that no honor was gained from killing one from the back.

"What honor is there to be gained by killing a friend in such a manner?" the Wizard asked.

"Honor is for the weak, _sharku_!" the captain retorted, a wolfish grin splitting his painted face. He approached the Wizard and tried to stare him down, but Romenasto began to notice things about this seemingly invincible, ravening Variag. He was actually rather short, a head less than Romenasto, and he himself was more broad than the Dunedain. His eyes, blue beneath the streaked black hand-prints over his face, were twitching violently and uncontrollably. He cast his eyes down to the captain's hands, and saw that they also were twitching. He had noticed that they all twitched thusly and, especially during their _blots_, it made them seem all the more mad and unstable.

"Is it weakness for the masters to dictate the terms to the slaves?" Romenasto asked.

The captain snarled at Romenasto, then spat in his face, before turning to the others and raising his hands as though in victory.

"We shall send horses to the imps and thereby hold them by their necks!" he shouted.

All replied in kind, and Romenasto sighed for the moment. Their attention was away from him and he was able to push himself out of their grasp: their twitching hands and uncontrollable spasms were no match for even an elderly man, much less an Istari. He made his way in secret out of the village, fear gripping his heart. While he had escaped unharmed, he feared that he had done more harm than good once again. With more horses from trade, the Wainriders, who he knew were those Easterlings who were 'sending horse-drawn wains' into battle, would doubtless conquer the people of Gondor. He silently prayed that Varda, whom the Elves called Elbereth, keep the Dunedain safe against what he had done.

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><p><strong>(AN: I promise, Romenasto <em>will<em> eventually do something good. He's wracked with self-doubt and guilt over the apparent loss of Morinehtar, and he also knows that he has singularly upon his shoulders the fate of the task of the Blue Wizards. In short, Romenasto is more like the Gandalf of the movies [rather than the Gandalf of the books], but more of a stronger-build kind of fellow.)  
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**(Also, the reason he persuades them from going to war is because that doesn't happen just yet, a united assault of the Wainriders, Variags and Haradrim. Not yet, at least.)  
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	17. Strong Woman

**(AN: A big time jump, but I couldn't come up with more that would seem meaningful. What we find here, however, is very important, especially in concord with the third chapter.)  
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><p><strong>Strong Woman<strong>

_T.A. 2980_

For the Istari, even as with the Eldar, time passed like the ripples upon the surface of a pond, swiftly passing away into nothingness. For Romenasto the Wanderer, he had seen his task come to naught. His advice to the Variags had ended with a loose alliance between the Wainriders and Khand. Almost one hundred years after the events in the village of Skjoll, there was indeed an alliance between the Variags, the Wainriders and the Haradrim, the people of the South. Even as, rumor had it, the kingdom of Arnor was falling, this confederacy of the Variags, Wainriders and Haradrim - Romenasto wondered how they could have possibly ever gotten along long enough to make a long-lasting alliance - besieged Gondor and killed her king.

Then fate seemed to step in and offer help to the West. Rather than continue the siege, the alliance had halted to celebrate, and they were smote by Earnil, who became the new king of Gondor. But precious little news came through to the East. As the centuries passed, eventually the Northern barbarians, called the Balchoth, became too numerous. While they had no war openly with the Empire of Rhun or with the remnants of the Wainriders, their people had been spared from war for far too long. With blood-lust in their veins, they marched westward, into Rhovanion and were never heard of again.

Over the years, rumors began spreading in the East of a new people in the West. Gold was their hair, tall and fair were they, and they rode on horses. Short-lived were they, yet they worshiped not the Shadow of the East and were the friends of Gondor. The Horse-men were now considered great enemies of the people of Rhun, as they had slain many of the Balchoth and Wainriders.

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><p>As for Romenasto, he worked endlessly trying to help the people of the East, attempting if possible to lead them away from the worship of the Enemy. But they refused his aid and he became much hunted in this part of the world. Even as the years went by and generation after generation of the people of the East came and went, the fear of the Blue Wizards (for they believed not that Morinehtar was dead, the rumor of his survival kept alive by their emperor) remained afresh with each generation.<p>

Thus it was that after almost two thousand years of ceaseless laboring that Romenasto was ready to return into the West in defeat. Morinehtar, he believed, was dead, and he could not take the heavy burden of this task all on his own. He had failed so many times to convert the people of the East from their folly: in truth, he had caused more cults to be created, as he had with the Ancient Cult of Gor'khan, which Moren'tai had continued in ages past and was still powerful after his death. Their black cloaks followed Romenasto into every city he went, sabotaging his labors and turning the peoples of the cities against him from the shadows.

He stood in a wheat field, wiping the sweat off his brow. Out here on the plains, there was little to guard him from the heat of the sun. All the mountains were on the western shore of the Andu'gaer, the West Sea, or on the edge of the world in the Orocarni. All the trees were on the eastern shore, sheltering the port-city of Ghari'khor. This far in the south-west, the heat would become rather unbearable, especially with no shade whatsoever.

As he paused for a moment, Romenasto turned and looked at the land behind him. The Land of the East, while hostile and violent, had become like a home to him. It was with a sad heart that he was now turning away. His task needed to be done. Gondor and the West could not survive against the full onslaught of the Shadow. Though his efforts had been in vain, Romenasto wished that there had been at least a few that had listened, just a little grain to prove that this harvest had not been futile. One small seed could make a tree that would shelter many.

But that was not what fate had meant for him, and he turned his back on the East, bent and wearied, and leaned heavily upon his staff as he made his way back in defeat. Suddenly a voice called out to him: _Blue Wanderer!_ He turned his eyes about and saw a woman standing in the field, a daughter hiding behind her skirt. He nodded in greeting, but turned back into his way.

"Hold, wanderer," the woman said in the language of the East, which Romenasto had learned in his travels. "May I ask where you are going?"

"I am traveling west," he replied.

The woman scrutinized him for a moment, then her expression seemed to lighten. "I am Ando'laeh, of the house of Ando. Come, good father, come to my house and rest a while."

"No, I must..." But Romenasto halted. "What did you say your clan-name was again?"

"Ando," she replied. "I...I have heard the tales about the Blue Wanderers, but I thought they were only a myth, a fantastical story my parents told me to be good." She approached Romenasto and bowed before him.

"No, please, rise," the old man returned. "I do not deserve such worship, nor will I have it."

"Forgive me for ever doubting you," she said. "I beg you to spend at least the night with me and my family, that we might profit from your long-awaited return."

"I have been expected?" Romenasto queried.

"Ever since you and your companion appeared in the fields of my ancestor's house," Ando'laeh replied. "It has been said that you would return to help us in our darkest hour. I'm not sure if that's true, but you are welcome to me and my house." She then knelt down to the young girl at her side. "Ando'ren, go inside and get supper ready for three. Hurry along, now." The young girl did as she was told, and then the mother turned to the Wizard.

"Your offer is kind," Romenasto said. "But I really must be going. My business is done..."

"Then rest and take some food before you leave this land," Ando'laeh offered.

At last, Romenasto nodded in agreement and made his way to the house of Ando'laeh, just as he and Morinehtar had done almost two thousand years ago. Little did he know that what he was about to do would change the fate of the East more than all the work that he had seemingly done for naught.

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><p><strong>(AN: Yes, I just did go there!)<strong>

**(We're now about thirty-eight to forty years before the events of the War of the Ring, and said character that I spoke of shall indeed appear. The next chapter is going to take some time, because we're going back to the Easterling tongue [Ando'laeh pretty much means "strong woman", and yes, she is the descendant of Ando'khin from the second chapter])  
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**(Also, while looking back at the previous chapters for contextual clues to have parallels [which you can see in the text], I realized that I've used "Gorkhan" as well as "Gor'khan". Both ways work, but it can be excused that the Dwarves pronounced it as "gor-khan" rather than "gorkhan". Yay, languages are fun!)  
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	18. Setting Sun of the Empire

**(AN: Come on, keep on reviewing! I've got so many chapters here, it's not even funny! Actually, I feel that there's not enough. This story deserves thirty chapters, yet I feel that I can't squeeze out any more than twenty, if not twenty-five. I don't know, maybe I could go back and insert a couple chapters about the Balchoth, hopefully if it can seem to be not as repetitive as the chapters in Khand. What do you think?)  
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**(Now we go back to the East and see our lovely Easterling woman!)  
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><p><strong>Setting Sun of the Empire<strong>

It was a much different scene in the house of Ando, when Romenasto alone ate with Ando'laeh and her daughter. The food they had was much better than he had remembered: the bread was better, and there was now cheese and salted meat as well, and a measure of milk. This he ate and drank gratefully, and in between bites, he asked them about how things had been lately, as far as their people.

"How goes the Empire, hmm?" he asked.

"The glory days of the Empire are long gone," Ando'laeh said. "Ghari'ban is so far detached from the Capital, that the Ancient Cult of Gorkhan cares not for what happens out here, on the very fringe of the frontier. The new Emperors have been weak and mortal: why Gorkhan called away the Divine One is beyond anyone's guess."

"New emperors?" Romenasto asked.

"Legends say that a thousand years ago," Ando'laeh began. "Gorkhan called Emperor Khamul the Divine to himself. The new line of emperors were sent to rule our people, but I fear that our people have fallen on hard times under the new dynasty." She turned to her daughter and dismissed her from the table. Once she was gone, she turned to the old man.

"I care not if I am heard," she said. "The new dynasty have little love for the people. They levy even heavier taxes upon our people, draining us dry of all our livelihood." She paused for a moment, a hand over her eyes. "My husband, Ando'gaer, was conscripted into the Imperial Army and was never heard from again."

Romenasto removed his tall-peaked, faded blue hat in respect, but then a thought came to his mind.

"If you don't mind my saying so," he began. "I see that the news of the death of your husband is troubling."

"I know, I know," she sighed. "It is said that death for the glory of Gorkhan is the highest honor one can earn. Bah! What kind of honor is that? The honor of dying at such a young age, leaving his wife to carry his daughter in sorrow, without a son or brothers to uphold his name!" She wiped the tears from her eyes with her hand. "Oh, but I shouldn't fuss. I have big plans for my child, my little Ando'ren: I hope to send her to the schools of learning in the Capital. Maybe she will become privy counselor to Emperor Amdur'ro, give him the sinews to stand up to the Black Cloaks and the Black Giants!"

"Black Cloaks?" he asked.

"That is the name they are called by the common people, the Ancient Cult of Gorkhan," she continued. "They claim to serve Gorkhan, but are spies in truth, traitorous turncoats who would sell their own mothers if they thought it would grant them advancement in rank. They have powers, it seems, beyond those of normal men and women: it is said they can see over great distances and read the thoughts of men's hearts. Nothing is secret from them, and they have many powerful allies, mostly among the Emperor's inner circle of advisers."

"You seem to know much for a simple country wife," Romenasto stated.

"It was not always thus," she said. "My father was a merchant living in the Capital, he traded weapons for horses with the blood-drinking barbarians of Khand, as had his father and his father before him. I was raised in wealth but chose Ando'gaer, a fisherman, and moved to his family house here. I know much of what goes on in the palace from what I heard from my father. I can read and write, and I have kept correspondence with many of my father's friends in the Capital."

"And the Giants?"

"They do not oppose the Black Cloaks or the taxes," she said. "They support them, and encourage us not to oppose them outwardly. I fear they may be working in concert with the Black Cloaks, if they ever actually were not doing so from the beginning." She sighed. "I detest all this doubt and fear. I want my daughter to grow up in a world free of such calamities."

Romenasto sat in quiet thought for a moment, wishing that he had a pipe. The Dwarves had none and no trade had he ever come across wherein _galenas_ was traded freely from the West to the East. Hearing Ando'laeh's words seemed to give him a new kind of hope, that perhaps all was not lost. She doubted the servants of the Enemy, he wondered if she might even doubt the Enemy himself and possibly be led to accepting something new.

"Milady," he began. "I sympathize with your plight, for I have walked this land ere you were born to grace it and know of its troubles. I fear that your guess hits closer to the mark than you would care to believe. Gorkhan is not oblivious to this usury of his power, he is the architect of your suffering."

"I cannot believe that," she shook her head. "For thousands of years, my people have lived in peace and safety under Gorkhan. I cannot believe that _he_ is the one responsible for all these evils. Oh, would that things were as they have always been!"

"It won't ever be thus, mother!" the young girl spoke up. Both Romenasto and Ando'laeh turned to the young girl, peeping out from behind a door where she had been listening to their conversation.

"Ando'ren, go back to bed," Ando'laeh ordered.

"But, mother, he's right!" she said. "Gorkhan's Eye sees all things, why has He not seen our suffering and helped us? It is because He is not what we believed. We have been lied to, mother!"

"I said back to bed, child!" Ando'laeh ordered again, her voice stern and commanding. Ando'ren bowed her head and complied, while her mother turned back to Romenasto and apologized. "She is young and foolish. Once I heard her say that the White Giants were not evil!" She sighed. "As for me, I just want things to be as they've always been, with these meddling interlopers gone and the pure, beloved worship of Gorkhan returned to our people."

Romenasto sighed. Perhaps this wasn't the right one. However, he had a hunch that he should remain. For a moment he considered ignoring it and going on about his way. Nothing good had come of his journeys in the East and he feared that consorting with this Easterling woman would bring just as little good as well. Nevertheless, something seemed to be urging him on with his goal: something was telling him that he should trust Ando'laeh, despite her filial devotion to the Enemy.

"Supposing one were to oppose these interlopers," he said at last. "How would one go about it?"

"Well, the Wainriders have no allegiance to the Empire," Ando'laeh retorted. "They have fought in their stead in the past, but I fear that was the doing of the Black Giants or the Black Cloaks. If one could convince them, they might be able to rally an army strong enough to assault the capital. However, assaulting the city itself would require strong engines of siege. I am no war counselor, and so I know not how it could be done. But you, you are a wise man, you have traveled far and your knowledge is great. Will you help us?"

Romenasto agreed, but he feared that once again, he was doing more harm to the people of the West than good.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: So, what do you think? I know, Ando'laeh is a late-comer, but I couldn't have her at the very beginning, as this story spans <em>thousands<em> of years! She's well-read, being a merchant's daughter, but I tried not to make her too over-powered [there are already too many Mary Sue in Middle Earth stories, and she is NOT such. I intentionally made it that she still believes in Gorkhan - whom we know as Sauron - yet does not trust those whom she believes corrupts his words. This is kind of a parallel to the early drafts of _Star Wars_, where the Emperor is viewed as a weak old man who is being controlled by Tarkin. However, we all know that Sauron, like the Emperor, is not only the one approving of the Black Cloaks, the Moredain and Khamul, but giving them orders].)**


	19. Thorongil

**(AN: Well, I did ask for it, even if it makes this seem all in vain. In hindsight, maybe it could have been a mini-series of ten-chapter stories, all of them about the Blue Wizards over several periods of time. Well, I'm almost done now so I guess it's too late for that. But maybe when it's all said and done, maybe I will go back and fix it all and have mini-sodes about the adventures of the Blue Wizards [then I'll have to come up with a good name for each one, lol])  
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**(While a lot of time has passed, it is important because now something very important is happening that is key to the outcome of the War of the Ring. We've definitely got lots of good stuff planned, so stick around.)  
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><p><strong>Thorongil<strong>

_T.A. 2981_

When Romenasto stopped for the night in the house of Ando'laeh, he never expected that he would be once again moving on with his quest. While Ando'laeh's faith in the Dark Lord of Mordor was strong, she was nevertheless eager to help the old man, and her daughter as well. In the morning, he made that he would go south into the desert-lands of Haradwaith, beyond the Hildo'ren and the black mountains of Mordor. Ando'laeh and her daughter chose to come with him.

So it was, ere the break of day, that Ando'laeh had prepared a donkey with food and supplies for a long journey into the south. Romenasto, who rarely slept, was already up and took over while she went to wake up Ando'ren. Once she was readied and placed on the donkey's saddle, Ando'laeh shut the doors and locked up her house for the last time. With a weary sigh, she turned her back and followed the old man and her daughter.

The plains of Western Rhun were barren, for all the Aurochs had long since been slain, hunted or died off in the Karahn'klem. For the most part, heat and boredom were their enemies. Romenasto had been burned so long over the thousands of years here, his pale flesh had been darkened like that of the people among which he walked. As far as boredom, there was little more to be said between Ando'laeh and Romenasto. He would not try to persuade her against her beliefs, for in doing so he had created an enemy in Amandil Moren'tai. She asked no questions of him and there was silence between them.

Not so for Ando'ren. She was young and inquisitive, and everything she saw or new words of which she knew not - which were great, for she had never been this far from home - she always asked the elder what they were. So it was that Romenasto found an eager pupil in the young girl. She asked him much about the places he had seen throughout his journeys, and he spared no expense in spoiling her with answers. From the Northern Wastes, the land of the fierce Balchoth and the Wainriders, to the Dwarf-cities of the Orocarni and as far south as the Hildo'ren and the barbaric lands of Khand: wherever his foot had trod the earth, there Ando'ren's questions went and thither his answers were as well.

During the night, they rested, while the old man kept watch, reciting lines of poems or verses of lore beneath his breath. If he were too loud and Ando'ren heard him, she would not go back to sleep unless she heard what he had spoken in full. Nevertheless, he tried to keep his words away from the West. Before they slept, Romenasto saw, Ando'laeh led her daughter in a kind of ritualistic prayer where they looked towards the East, prostrated themselves upon the sand and chanted a prayer to the Dark Lord. In the Common Tongue, it is rendered something to the effect of these words.

_Gorkhan, Lord of the East_  
><em>I prostrate myself before your might<em>  
><em>Gorkhan, Lord of the East<em>  
><em>I profane the lies of the giants White<em>

_Gorkhan, Lord of the East_  
><em>My life and my blood forever thine<em>  
><em>Gorkhan, Lord of the East<em>  
><em>Into my rotten flesh I carve thine Eye<em>

_Gorkhan, Lord of the Dawn_  
><em>Haste the day when shadows cover all<em>  
><em>Gorkhan, Lord of the World<em>  
><em>Hold my hand, in battle I shall fall<em>

Romenasto believed not what they said, but neither did he try to dissuade them from practicing their customs. However, once, while they were doing so, he happened to look over at Ando'ren and saw that her obeisance were not as earnest as her mother's. To his experienced eyes, it seemed as though the daughter spoke these words because she had been raised doing so and knew no other way, whereas, from the expressive vocalizations and emphatic cries, her mother truly believed the words that were spoken. He longed to say something, for he felt that they were being led down a path from which there would be no return.

The orcs, whom they worshiped in the secret cults, were a curse of Morgoth and they knew only evil and cruelty. But these were Men, like the Rohirrim who had slain the Balchoth in the fields of the West hundreds of years ago. They loved and lived and were only fighting the West because they were being told to do so, trained from birth to live and die for Gorkhan, who cared not for them as long as they serviced his ends.

* * *

><p>This went on for months on end, becoming worse with every mile southward. Silence, however, still hung about the group during one afternoon while Romenasto was explaining to Ando'ren the ways of the Balchoth. For a moment, he paused, uncomfortable about talking about the lack of laws among the Balchoth that protected women from lusty men. He told her that one day, she would be old enough to know the truth.<p>

"Are they really as cruel as the white giants, old man?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Romenasto replied, hearing the word he had thought he would never hear.

"I heard the white giants eat children," Ando'ren began. "Mother always said that they don't give burial rites to the dead, they just throw them in holes in the ground!"

"Disgraceful!" Ando'laeh exclaimed.

"But is it true they eat people?" Ando'ren continued. "Or that they kill people for sport?"

"That's enough!" Ando'laeh interjected.

"But I want to know!"

"It's alright," Romenasto dismissed. "I have been among them, for a brief time, and from what I can say, while they do not burn their dead, they do not eat the living, nor do they take pride in killing people."

"Then why does Gorkhan say we must kill them?" Ando'ren asked.

"Silence!" demanded Ando'laeh. "How dare you question the wisdom of Gorkhan!"

"I cannot tell you now," Romenasto sighed. "Your mother would not have it."

Ando'ren grumbled her complaint, but they continued on in silence for a space.

"What do they look like?" Ando'ren asked. "Is it true that they're as white as salt, have hair like straw and have eyes as blue as the cursed sky?"

"Some of them do," Romenasto replied. "But some have dark hair, and are darker complexion."

"Like the people of the South?" Ando'ren queried. "I've heard stories about the Swertings. Even though they worship Gorkhan, they are savages who ride atop giant beasts and are so stupid, they don't know what to do with gold."

"Don't say such things, child," Ando'laeh scolded. "That is where we are going." She turned to Romenasto. "Remember the plan?"

"Aye, yes," he nodded.

They continued on in silence for the rest of that day. Near the last hours of daylight, they came upon a black line of mountains in the south-west of their location. Upon seeing them, Ando'laeh bowed herself upon the ground and began chanting the prayer to Gorkhan. Romenasto, however, looked upon those mountains fearfully. Though he had passed beneath their shadow once, it had not been this bad. The long span of years since his time in Khand had changed the Land of Shadow. Whereas before it was a dead land, a shadow of a distant fear, cursed and covered in shadow, it was now a living entity of darkness. In the long years, the Dark Lord had fled Orocarni and returned to the West, to the Elven fortress upon the bald hill in Greenwood. But he had returned to the East and now settled in the land of his ancient sway, the land to which Ando'laeh was prostrating herself.

Mordor.

* * *

><p>For the next several days, they marched under the shadow of Mordor, and Romenasto's fears began to grow. They traveled in secret, and few could mark them even on the flat plains, clad as they were in the garb of the desert, save the Eagles of Manwe. It was not a fear of discovery that filled Romenasto's heart with dread, but a suspicion of his traveling companion. While Ando'laeh had only conducted her prayers to Gorkhan nightly, now she seemed to be praying in the direction of the Black Land every waking hour: once upon waking, again during the break for the mid-day meal, again if they halted, and lastly during the night before they made camp.<p>

Now he feared that she would discover his plot, that she would realize that he was an enemy of Gorkhan. Ever had misfortune dogged his steps since the time of his failure with Amandil Moren'tai. Now he would be going into uncharted land with a potential threat once again. The plan was that they would enter the easternmost lands of Haradwaith, called Far Harad, and seek the allegiance of the Haradrim against the Wainriders. While most of their force had fallen during the wars with Gondor and Rohan, they were still a rather fierce fighting force, having assimilated the Balchoth after their loss against the Rohirrim. During the last few years, Romenasto became aware of the emissaries from Mordor going about the lands of the East, all with the same message.

War. Armies were massing in Rhun, Khand and Haradwaith, the name of Gorkhan was on the lips of the faithful Easterlings, and Romenasto feared the worst. From what he knew of the wars between the East and the West, the armies of Mordor lacked cavalry. The Variags and the Haradrim bread horses and, due to his interference, traded with the Easterlings. Now Romenasto would be going to the South to request their aid in the war against the East. Without cavalry, the armies of Mordor would be at a disadvantage to the Men of the West, who had strong cavalry in Rohan and Gondor.

For a whole year, they passed through the lands of the East, all the while fear gripping Romenasto as he gazed out into the dark shadow of the East. Much could have happened in a year: he could be over-late, war might have already broken out, the West might already be falling. They encountered no one, and no word was there upon any of the beasts or birds. The silence was telling on the old man, but the women seemed unaffected.

At last, however, they came to the borders of the East and the South. Behind them was the Hildo'ren and to the north was Mordor. On the one hand were the highlands of Khand, sheltered beneath the clouds of smoke from the Orodruin, and on the other were trackless plains of desert sands as far as the eye could see. Unmarred were they, save for a tiny black dot that was slowly growing, approaching them as they stood there, pondering what it could be. Romenasto saw Ando'laeh stirring besides him and saw her grip two axes in her hands. The figure was fast approaching and soon it appeared besides them, riding a horse. The figure dismounted and Ando'laeh gasped in fear.

Standing before them was a tall Man, clad in sand-colored robes but wore very dark, weathered boots. A hood was drawn down over his face and he had on his belt not an ax or a curved blade, but a long, straight scabbard for a great-sword.

"Hail, father," the newcomer said to Romenasto in the Common Tongue. "Whither away in this desolate land?"

"I seek the Haradrim," Romenasto replied. "You are not one of them, for it is said they do not speak the Common Tongue."

"That is so," the stranger said. "For I have been among them of late and learned their tongue. If you are seeking a guide, I would be willing to offer my assistance to you."

"I don't trust him," Ando'laeh sneered in her native tongue. "He's tall and there's a foul stench about him: he's one of the white devils, kill him now!"

The stranger seemed to guess her meaning, despite the words she used being foreign to him. "I come in peace, and if I had indeed meant to kill you, I might have done so already. However, I do not kill needlessly nor strike down weary travelers. If you will have me, I can guide you to the Haradrim, for I have been this way and know of their customs. Will you not have me?"

"I may not speak for the others," Romenasto said after a brief pause. "But it would be wise to permit us to follow you. What, sir, is your name?"

"I am Thorongil, servant of the Steward of Gondor," the Man replied.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Yay for fan-service!)<strong>

**(Even if everyone hates this story [which seems likely], I am not going to end it and I didn't bring Thorongil in just so fan-girls can ogle or because I feel the story is starting to lag. The lore has him in Haradwaith roughly this time period. Also, I've had very few recognizable characters [Glorfindel, Elrond, Saruman and Sauron are pretty much it], so having another is good. Don't worry, it's important to this story's progression as well.)  
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**(I may have some skill at writing rip-off stories [lol], but I suck when it comes to writing poetry. Seriously, I can't even make poems for my music! That little bit of verse for the prayer to Gorkhan was not mine, but "borrowed" and adapted from the lyrics of the most famous _Bathory_ song [hint, it has nothing to do with vikings]. Don't sue me, please! I'm not Tolkien, nor do I pretend to be, but I felt that some kind of verse was needful to feel more connected to the rest of the legendarium.)  
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**(Thankfully, I've had inspiration to drag this story out a bit longer, so I don't think we'll be ending with twenty chapters.)  
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	20. She Who Listened

**(AN: I'm glad somebody likes this. Yes, I had planned on continuing this story, but mega disaster struck. First, the flash-drive with the draft of the next chapter was stolen and secondly, the laptop on which the back-up copy of that draft was on has something wrong with its hard-drive, so I have no time for any of my stories. However, my interest in _Lord of the Rings_ has risen again, thanks in no small part to Phil Dragash, the maker of the VERY amazing audio-book/dramatized reading of Tolkien's epic [most of it can be found on YouTube], so I felt that maybe another update would serve.)**

**(Also, because it was stolen, I have very little remembrance of what my plan was going to be for the story. Please have patience with me.)**

* * *

><p><strong>She Who Listened<strong>

For many long days, the four of them walked through the empty lands of the far east. Soon they would once again be upon the border of Khand, which land Romenasto feared to enter. Ando'laeh and her daughter Ando'ren kept to themselves, eying Thorongil with fear and speaking only to themselves in their own tongue hushed and whispered. Romenasto noticed that little Ando'ren was looking curiously at Thorongil, despite her mother's caution against him. A thought entered his head, wondering if she would be different than most of the people of the East he had known in the almost two thousand years he had walked this land. But he shook his head and said nothing.

"When last I entrusted myself to them," he thought ruefully. "It proved to be my greatest failing. I shall wait and see what may happen."

Thorongil, while grim, was a little bit more open and shared with him all that had been going on in the wide world since he last heard news from the West. Arnor finally fell to the witch-realm of Angmar, ending the rule of the Dunedain in the North. But they were not all wiped out, for the line of Arvedui the Last King of Arnor lived on through the chieftains of the Rangers. Thorongil said little about them, save that they protected the people of the North lands from evil things. On the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, a dragon had appeared in the Dwarven Kingdom Under the Mountain, driving the Longbeards from their homelands. Though less than two hundred years later, the dragon was slain and Erebor was being rebuilt into its former glory.

In Gondor, things had not fared well either. Thorongil said that Earnil had died and his son, Earnur, was a man of war who never married. He marched north and broke the power of Angmar, driving the Witch-King, the Lord of Angmar, into exile. Within a few short years, he had returned in power to Mordor and challenged Earnur to battle. He answered the challenge and never returned, thus ending the line of Kings in Gondor. Now there ruled the Stewards, men of renown who kept the city until the King should return. But these were not of the same Westernesse stock as the Kings of Gondor, and its rule fell into ruin. Umbar and Harondor were lost, taken by the people of the South, the Haradrim and the Variags.

"Thus it was my charge," he said. "For the Steward Ecthelion II sent me to Umbar to weaken the might of the Corsairs. I led a small host nigh to the walls of Umbar, where we engaged them on land, where they could not bring their black ships to bear against us."

"I would not speak of these things aloud, my friend," Romenasto said to Thorongil. "They have no love for the White Giants. Oh, my apologies, I mean the Men of the West. It has been so long, I feel I have adopted much of their habits."

"This I noted once my company and I passed the borders of Harondor," said Thorongil in reply. "My only hope is that the wide lands of the East will be empty enough for me to return to the North unmolested."

"You are not staying with us?" Romenasto asked.

"Father," said Thorongil, using the title used by both the Eldar and the Edain in respect for an elder. "My task is done and now my path lies homeward. It was not any design of mine that you and I should meet. Gandalf told me nothing of your whereabouts."

"Gandalf?" Romenasto asked, then his eyes lightened. "Ah yes, Mithrandir. Does he still wander the lands of the North?"

"He does wander indeed," Thorongil said. "And he has ever been a help to the people of the West, though when last we parted, he told me to be wary if my path should lead me under the shadow of the East, for into that land he has never traveled: nor, as he told me, would he ever."

"Still," Romenasto sighed. "I wish that you would not leave us so soon. I have still urgent business in the South and in the East and I cannot do this great task alone."

"I did not say that I am departing at once," said Thorongil. "I may yet be of some assistance to you, but I do not think that you are wholly alone." He pointed to little Ando'ren, who seemed to be staring curiously at whatever the two tall strangers were discussing in secret.

"I cannot trust them, not again," said Romenasto ruefully. "The last time I entered into confidence with them, I was deceived and my trust betrayed. I was blind by the desire to help them and did not see what should have been apparent. For many lives of Men I have wandered these lands as an exile, paying in full for my trust."

Thorongil said nothing, for he was looking at the young Easterling child, who now bore a smile as she gazed at the tall, dark-haired man. He was much taller than anyone she had ever seen, leaner and less stocky, with bright, sea-gray eyes. But it was his face which puzzled the little girl, for it was browned with sun and was not white.

"Do you eat children?" Ando'ren asked.

"What?" Thorongil chuckled.

"I've heard that the White Giants eat children," the little girl replied. "Is that true?"

"Do I look like a child eater?" Thorongil asked.

"Yes," the mother, Ando'laeh, retorted harshly. Romenasto shook his head, remembering all too well the horrors he had seen in temples dedicated to Gor'khan in the lands of the East.

"That is not true," Thorongil chuckled. "We eat the same food as your people do, though it would of course be different by reason of the lands in which my people live."

"Do you kill prisoners?" Ando'ren asked. "I've heard that the White Giants never take prisoners, and if they happen to, they burn them alive."

"That also is untrue," he returned. "If ever there were any to sue for pardon, it would not be denied them."

"Listen, outsider," Ando'laeh said, turning with a harsh glance at Thorongil. "I only tolerate your presence because of him..." She pointed to Romenasto. "For my part, I will not have you corrupting my child with your lies! We both are loyal subjects of the Emperor, slaves to Gor'khan in life and in death. Our only duty is to save the Empire from the corrupt ones who claim to represent Gor'khan and the Emperor, not to overthrow the old ways of reason and truth. Is that clear?"

Thorongil nodded but said nothing to them. Instead he turned to Romenasto, who quietly bowed his head in weariness.

"They do not know," he said. "That the very ones she fights for have sanctioned those she claims to be fighting against. Yea, they are the servants of the former, doing his bidding to the letter."

"Then why do you carry on with them?" Thorongil asked.

Romenasto said nothing else, but continued on with the others. They kept their distance, and Ando'laeh said no more to them all the rest of the day. When evening fell on them, they made a small camp in the green lands of eastern Khand. Their meal was simple and quiet and when they finally went to sleep, the mother and daughter slept together with their faces looking north, towards the dark-line of mountains to the north that formed the southern boundary of the Land of Shadow. Romenasto and Thorongil slept apart, with the old man turned eastward and the ranger turned westward. After many long, quiet hours spent gazing into the brush, Romenasto turned around and saw Thorongil lying on his back, looking up into the sky.

"You can't sleep?" he asked.

"I have not slept in many long nights," said Thorongil. "Not since I left the land of Lothlorien."

"You would have better been served not coming here," said Romenasto. "There is little hope in these people. They refuse to turn from their old ways. The best that can be done is to stir up trouble for the one they call Gor'khan."

Thorongil sighed. He then looked back up at the sky and sat pensively for a moment. Romenasto, meanwhile, decided that it was best that he return to sleep. While he was laying himself back down upon the cleared patch of turf that was his bed, he saw the little girl Ando'ren crawling over to where Thorongil lay.

"You should be sleeping," he heard Thorongil say to her.

"I heard you were talking," said Ando'ren. "I like your voice, giant. You seem to be much nicer than my mother said you White Giants were."

"Go back to sleep, child," Thorongil returned. "Your mother would not be happy if she saw you speaking with me."

"She's asleep," Ando'ren said plainly, as if that solved every problem that might present itself. There was silence for a while, broken by the cool winds of the plains, after which she spoke again. "What are you looking at?"

"The stars," Thorongil replied. "I thought I knew the path of the night-sky, but I know none of these stars."

"I know the stars," Ando'ren replied, laying beside Thorongil and looking up into the sky with him. She pointed up to one faint formation of stars above a brighter cluster. "There is Aur'o, the mighty bull. To the right is Mulo'tai, the guardian of the sea. Beneath them is Om'remo, the evil one. Mother said that Gor'khan put the bull and the guardian in the sky to keep us safe from the evil one and his bow."

Romenasto's brow furrowed when he heard this. The star cluster to which Ando'ren pointed to was the Hunter, whom the Eldar identified as Orome, one of the Valar and his own lord who had sent him and Morinehtar into the East. While her explanation was hardly unexpected, he wondered just how far back the service and worship of the Dark Lord of the East had penetrated into the very fabric of their being.

"What do you think?" Thorongil asked.

"You don't look like a bad man," Ando'ren said to Thorongil. "But...my mother doesn't want me to listen to you. She says you're a liar, but I think you can be trusted. Tell me, what's it like in the west? Do the women over there really have hair made of gold?"

Thorongil chuckled. "Their hair is not made of gold," he said. "But it is bright like gold. Yet there are many in the West who have hair as black as the wings of the raven or the dark under the stars, and they are no less fair than those who are golden-haired."

Ando'ren giggled. "But why would they say that your people eat my people?"

"They?"

"The village law-speaker," she said. "And my mother."

"Because they do not know," said Thorongil. "And what men do not know, whether in East or in West, they fear."

"I want to know," Ando'ren said, turning over and placing her chin in both of her hands. "I do not want to be afraid."

"Good," Thorongil replied. "That is very good. You are indeed very wise, my lady."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Sorry that this took forever to come out. Most of my energy is being taxed with my <em>Skyrim<em> stories, since Bethesda has officially ended the series in the past with the we-need-to-beat-World-of-Warcraft sellout that is _ESO_ and Michael-i-hate-Tolkien-Kirkbride is trolling his way through the lore of the _Elder Scrolls_, I feel obligated to make my mark on the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom, at least for the sake of the good of the human race of Tamriel, etc. That's probably not a good excuse since Peter Jackson is trolling _his_ way through Tolkien's legendarium with "_The Hobbit_", but that's a whole different can of beans right there.)  
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**(In better news, I wanted to have some background about what Aragorn [yay, smart reviewers!] said in _Lord of the Rings_ about the stars in the South being strange. Obviously this would take quite a while, but some of the shapes of the constellations are based on real-life southern stars since Arda is an ancient Earth, you know. Orome, whom the Men of Darkness would consider "an evil one" since he's one of the Valar who are enemies of Morgoth and therefore of Sauron, is what we would recognize as Orion.)  
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